


December 21st

by seherrons



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed 3 Spoilers, Assassin's Creed Revelations spoilers, Explicit Language, M/M, Major canon divergence, Male Slash, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 214,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seherrons/pseuds/seherrons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Desmond wakes from his coma it's to the realisation that nothing will ever be the same - especially since he found himself agreeing to help Subject 16 escape from the animus. Now December 21st fast approaches, and only by working together to find the key to the Grand Temple can they help save the world from its ultimate fate. </p><p>If, of course, they can first save themselves from the multiple dangers they will undoubtedly face along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The endings of Revelations and AC3 made me an absolute wreck, so I wanted to try my hand at writing something that I had an idea for shortly after playing both. I love both Clay and Desmond, and I really wanted to see a better ending for them than the hand that they were dealt in-game. I know both games are reasonably old now, but if someone hasn't played either of them yet this story contains major spoilers for both AC3 and Revelations, as well as being an almost complete re-write of the events of AC3. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! :)

" _Desmond… think about this. What if… I went with you?"_

_His first reaction was to stare, uncertain as to whether or not he had misinterpreted the words which the blond had uttered, Sixteen rising from his slumped position on the ground. His ice blue eyes were trained intently on the figure standing warily before him._

_Desmond's brows furrowed and the brunet took a subconscious step backwards._

" _With me? Where?"_

_Clay continued to bore his eyes into Desmond's own with rapt attention – a long-lost spark seeming to have been kindled within his gaze, making the man look the liveliest Desmond had ever seen him since he had awoken on this damned island._

" _It could work! Just for a while – until I found a way out. Another body maybe or a… I dunno. I just…" The vigour in his gaze faded, and what brief excitement had passed across his pale features had now dimmed into a hollow look of despair. Desmond shifted uncomfortably._

_When Clay next spoke, his words were barely above a whisper. Broken, just like the man who uttered them._

"…  _I don't want to be here anymore."_

_Silence followed, as thick and as ominous as the empty lapping of the waves against the shore around them. And for once, Desmond found that he was simply at a loss for words._

_He knew he should have refused, knowing that to do so would be to prevent putting the others in danger – Clay had suffered cruelly at the hands of the world and lost his life because of it, after all. Bringing him back would only serve to punish him more. Not to mention what Rebecca and Shaun would have to say._

_He knew he should have refused._

"…  _Alright."_

_Blue eyes widened, a wild hope – frantic, raw and indescribable brimming in the depths of that penetrating stare._

" _Do you really mean it?"_

"…  _Yeah."_

" _Thank you…"_

_He could still remember those words as clear as day as they echoed in his mind like the tolling of a great bell at sunrise when the deletion sequence came. Hands wrapped tightly around him, promise and underlying threat pooling within those twin seas of blue as Clay's gaze locked directly onto Desmond's own – the island shaking, fragmenting, breaking around them, trying to purge the foreign bodies from its databanks to delete them for good._

" _This is the end, Desmond! Scheduled for deletion! I saw you safe and kept up my part of the bargain… now it's time you kept yours."_

_He had then disappeared, Desmond still left to struggle in the grip that was no longer held on him – his vision went white, and the last thing he remembered before succumbing to the onslaught of darkness around him was the faint peals of high, loud laughter – exalting and joyous – echoing in his ears._

_He should have refused, but he didn't._

_And now he was certain he was going to pay for it._

* * *

The first thing that he was aware of when he came to was the blurred figures darting to and fro across his groggy vision.

He groaned – his voice sounded vaguely weak and gruff to his own ears – and his head pounded as he blinked the dizziness away.

He heard voices and he tried to focus on where they were coming from, but in his current state he felt overwhelmed as his brain swam with every frail attempt at movement he made. In the end he could only lie there, panting faintly, waiting for his body to adjust.

When it did, the first thing he saw clearly were two pale blue eyes gazing at him expectantly, concern clearly evident in their depths as they searched his face. His heart all but leapt to this throat, images of Clay flooding his mind and for a moment Desmond almost yelped out in shock, but then he realised that those eyes were not those of Subject Sixteen.

"Son?"

They were of his father.

If William was feeling concerned over Desmond's hasty attempt to put space between them, the brunet scrambling back as far as his weakened limbs would allow, he didn't show it outwardly. Behind him Shaun and Rebecca looked on, exchanging a glance.

Desmond swallowed the thick lump in his throat and finally managed to look around him, noting that the small, confined space he was seated in atop the animus was moving – the sounds of something like tyres trundling along the road underneath. He took a deep breath.

"Where are we?" He paid no mind to the hoarseness of his voice.

William's gaze hardened and he stood up. What retort he would have made at his son's blatant dismissal was not shared aloud.

"We're driving to the airport. We need to get out of Italy – Abstergo's no doubt looking everywhere for us."

Desmond nodded, running a hand over his face. The words his father had uttered had registered – but only barely. His mind was still far away, back on the island…

_What the hell happened in there?_

More importantly – what had happened to Clay? He remained uneasy.

"At any rate it was a good thing you managed to come back to us, Desmond. Otherwise we would've had to drag you to the airport on the animus. You're heavy enough as it is without that adding to it."

Desmond paid Shaun no mind, otherwise ignoring the Brit's jibes in the hopes that his stomach would cease rolling around inside of him. Thankfully Rebecca came to the rescue.

"Shut up, Shaun," she huffed as she leant forwards, busying herself with pulling free the IV cords still attached to Desmond's arms. He grunted as the needles were removed, his brain swimming momentarily and his vision blurring. He felt a hand gently grab at his shoulder and squeeze in a sign of comfort, and he mumbled his thanks to the raven haired woman as she straightened herself up.

"I realise this is a bad time and all but… what happened in there?"

Desmond lifted his gaze, blinking the dark spots free from his vision so he could focus on the technician more clearly. His brows furrowed, and he was silent for a long time.

"I… honestly don't know." It was the truth. And unless he could have a moment to himself so he could reflect on what it was that had actually happened inside and just what the hell he had agreed to – he wasn't intent on providing any more answer than that.

Rebecca studied him for a minute before nodding, shrugging her shoulders and turning her attention to the monitor before her. He could feel the eyes on him from his father and Shaun, but Desmond refused to glance up to meet their expectant gazes. It might have been that they knew he was unwilling to talk, but he was in no state of mind right now to give them the satisfaction.

"Just take it easy, Desmond," William ended up muttering under his breath, the older assassin sitting down on the chair opposite the animus as the van trundled on. Desmond narrowed his eyes at him – what else could he do other than take it easy right now? – but he didn't say another word.

They drove on in silence, Desmond retreating back into his thoughts.

* * *

The safe house wasn't entirely what Desmond had originally expected it to be when he had stepped out of the cramped confines of the back of the rental van as it finally ground to a halt – the lengthy flight from Italy to America leaving him slightly disoriented and jet lagged as he carefully braced himself against the doors. Not to mention the fact that they had arrived here a good five hours later than they should have, what with airport security needing to be 'persuaded' to let four tourists rent a van large enough to house the suspicious looking chair and computer wires that they had brought with them. In the end a few well-placed threats and bribes had seen them through, but all in all he wasn't very eager to repeat the experience any time soon.

He blinked, his brows raising slightly as he took in the expanse of garden before him, the boughs of trees lining either side of the driveway leading to a surprisingly tidy and well-kept two story house tiled in beige. He had no idea where they were, but given the total sense of privacy around them he gathered it was free from Abstergo's sight. For the time being, anyway. A bird chirped somewhere overhead, and for a moment Desmond felt he could forget himself and the weight of the world… felt he could finally  _relax_.

He took a deep breath – allowed the fresh air to fill his lungs – and for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he smiled.

The moment was short-lived however when his father's voice rang out from somewhere ahead of him.

"Are you going to just stand there son or are you going to help us get these things in the house?"

Desmond sighed, bitterly noting to himself that he would have to be mad to think that he would get a moment to himself anymore, and he grudgingly turned to aid Rebecca and Shaun with the boxes of wires and electronics.

"I suppose you're not even gonna bother telling me where the hell we  _are_ , exactly?" He muttered as he strode past his father, glancing around him when he stepped through the door and took in the fireplace in the roomy living room – pictures hanging from the cobbled stone walls and frayed rugs soaking up the heat of the already lit hearth. Someone had been in here recently. By the looks of things – the couches topped with plush looking pillows and the bookcases neatly dusted – this safe house of theirs had been cleaned just prior to their arrival. The place smelt of musk and the heady scent of pine.

It almost reminded Desmond of home.

A strange, foreign sensation swelled within the pit of his stomach, and his brows pulled into a faint frown. He placed the box he was carrying onto the nearby coffee table and turned his expectant gaze towards his father who had followed him, dropping a case of wires onto the couch. William lifted his head and looked back at him.

"Somewhere safe, and most importantly somewhere free from Abstergo's clutches. Harold let me use the place knowing that we'd be needing it."

"Harold?" The confusion was clearly etched across Desmond's face. He had no memory of his father knowing someone by the name of Harold. William ignored him, already occupied with retrieving the second set of boxes from Shaun.

Deciding he was too tired to waste time on pointless questions when it was clear that he had more pressing matters to attend to, Desmond glanced around him once more, fighting the urge to retire to the upstairs in search of a hot shower and a warm bed. His brain was swimming – he had so many questions, so many things to say… but at the same time all he wanted right now was to be alone.

Unfortunately that luxury would have to wait a little while longer, if the heavy grunts coming from Shaun and William were anything to indicate as they worked on hauling the animus inside the front door. Sighing and jogging over to help them, Desmond tried to focus on the here and now.

"I'll go get some coffee while you boys deal with that," Rebecca chirped cheerily from where she'd stepped out of the way to let the men pass her by. Shaun shot her a scathing glare, the Brit clearly unimpressed with her slacking off in helping them.

"Oh of course. Get some coffee and sit back while we do all the work, why don't you? Never mind that the world is about to come to a close in a few months and we need all the help we can possibly get!"

"Did I hear an order for a flat white?"

"Yes thanks, with sugar."

"On it."

Despite the fatigue dulling his senses, Desmond couldn't help but chuckle faintly at those two. It wasn't until Rebecca and Shaun had begun their little bantering that he had realised how long it must have been since he was trapped inside that digital island in his coma. He found he missed this sense of camaraderie… this familiarity.

When he looked back on his time locked away in the animus, he had spent more time progressing through the remainder of Ezio's memories than actually taking a moment to rest and strike up conversation with the only other inhabitant of that lonesome place. In fact the more he thought on it now, the more he recalled that his talks with Clay had been short and clipped at best – a snarky remark here, a few careful questions there – but most of all, it had been almost like Clay was purposely trying to avoid any form of confrontation with him. For a man who had suffered so much, the need for companionship and understanding had practically bled through his pale blue eyes. But at the same time he would always be the one to push him away when Desmond dared speak to him.

It was strange, for lack of a better word.

He didn't have any time to reminisce on that as his father's voice cut through his thoughts and dragged him back to the present matter at hand, Desmond grunting in exertion as he and Shaun angled the animus to the side so it could rest in the centre of the living room by the coffee table.

"We'll get it hooked up after we've had our coffee. Then I expect an explanation, Desmond."

Desmond ignored him, the 25 year old slowly clenching his fists by his sides in an effort to stifle the need to retort. Leave it to William to remind him that he was nothing but a pawn for both sides – both the assassins and Templars wanting nothing more than endless streams of information from him like he was some kind of open library. Since his capture by Abstergo and the knowledge that his ancestors had come into direct contact with the Pieces of Eden, that was all he ever had been after all. His insides almost curled in on themselves in barely repressed anger – but outwardly Desmond remained calm, at ease.

He sat down on the couch, glad to be sitting on something that wasn't the animus for once in almost a month and a half.

Footsteps approached from ahead and Rebecca arrived bearing four mugs of coffee. Placing each down on the table, the raven haired technician glanced around the living room, a decidedly bemused expression on her face.

"It's not exactly my style, but at least it's a proper place to rest for once."

Shaun looked up from his coffee from where he had been about to take a sip.

"Yes, because we all know that you prefer the dank old ruins we've been living in for the past month and a bit."

Rebecca looked genuinely affronted.

"Shaun!"

"If I might interrupt, we have more pressing matters to attend to right now." William's curt reminder cut both of them off, both Shaun and Rebecca hastily nodding their agreement and doing their best to avoid eye contact. Without glancing back at them, the older man turned his steely gaze on his son, William's expression clearly conveying that he wanted Desmond to start talking, and start talking now.

Slowly sipping from his coffee and savouring the aromatic brew as it hit his throat, Desmond purposely took as long as he could before answering. He continued to avoid his father's gaze, instead staring straight ahead at the window on the opposite side of the wall, the trees outside swaying softly in the breeze. When he finally did speak, he chose his words very carefully.

"Well, there's nothin' much to say. I don't remember going into shock after what happened at the temple… all I know was that Juno managed to…  _control_ me somehow. Like… like a program. Yeah. It felt like I'd entered some kind of computer program and she… showed me things. Like virtual reality."

There was an echoing silence for a moment, the other assassins clearly hanging onto his words with an intensity that almost rivalled the overbearing foreboding of the island. Desmond swallowed – a bit too quickly – and he choked faintly on his coffee before regaining his composure and continuing cautiously.

"Next thing I knew I woke up and I was in the animus. I felt fine. Didn't know what'd happened either until I heard you guys talking about… about Lucy… and… everything else." He took a slow breath and held it, trying to push the memories from his mind. Try as he might, Lucy's blood would always stain his hands. He'd killed her.  _He_  had killed  _her_.

It didn't matter if she had been a traitor all along. It didn't matter if she had been planning to take the Apple back to Vidic after they'd found it. She had still helped him when he was in Abstergo. She was the one who aided him in honing his abilities. She had been a friend. And now she'd paid for it with her life, by his own hand. And what cut his heart the most, what turned his blood to ice within his very veins was that he had  _allowed_ it to happen.

He could never forgive himself.

He was no better than a fucking Templar.

"… What kind of things did Juno show you?" Rebecca's voice was tentative, something rather uncharacteristic for the normally headstrong technician.

"I had to get out of there. Out of the animus. I managed to find a portal inside… it was like a synch nexus of some kind. I found there were memories I still hadn't seen yet, memories of Ezio," Desmond continued, avoiding Rebecca's question. Her brows pulled into a frown, the technician clearly concerned by how easily Desmond had ignored her, but a challenging stare from William kept her silent. He knew his son well enough to see when something caused him pain to talk about, despite what Desmond may have said otherwise. He also knew that if he wanted to speak of it, he would in his own time, no matter how much of an inconvenience it was right now for him to not give them the whole story outright.

"Synch nexus?" Shaun had arched an eyebrow, staring at the brunet over the rim of his mug. Desmond looked at him.

"Yeah. Some kinda storage for lost memories. I needed to access those before I could bring myself out of the limbo the animus had put me into." It was a shoddy explanation at best, and Desmond could see the wary looks in their eyes as the assassins continued to stare at him. They didn't buy a word of it. He would have laughed right then if he could have, but right now he was more concerned with keeping Clay's involvement out of it.

He still didn't know where the man had gone – or at least, where his virtual self had gone to, anyway. The thought remained in the back of his brain, niggling and constantly giving him that sense of discomfort he had experienced earlier. It was almost as if the man had simply vanished. He often would back on the island – the blond disappearing into shimmering fragments of data before fading entirely from Desmond's sight as soon as they had concluded one of their brief attempts at small-talk. But this was different. He didn't know how or why he knew… he just did.

A part of him wondered if perhaps the deletion sequence had managed to get to Clay before he could properly bind himself to Desmond's body – the man  _had_ started to break up and defragment just as the portal widened and the island grew dangerously unstable – and the more that small part of him remained fixated on that as the only feasible solution, the more he grew increasingly anxious.

He downed some more of his coffee, hoping to distract himself.

"What kind of memories were you able to access? I thought we'd seen the last of them." Rebecca's tone was pensive, and there was a careful look in her eyes – the woman clearly doing her best to word her questions such that Desmond would feel compelled to answer. He had to admire her for that. His lips pursed into a thin line, the brunet setting his mug back down on the table as he folded his arms over his knees.

"Ezio was in his fifties… he'd gone to Masyaf to find this library that his father had talked about in a letter he wrote a year before his birth. It was a library Altaïr had built in the castle to store all these books he'd collected over the years. There were these keys that had been sent to Constantinople – the Templars had found one of them already – so Ezio was searching for all the rest… only they weren't really keys, they were… memories that Altaïr had inscribed using the Apple. They were messages."

He trailed off, his brows furrowing. In front of him Shaun and Rebecca sat riveted with attention, the pair clearly hanging onto every word said. William remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"Are you bloody serious?!" Shaun's eyebrows rose over the rims of his glasses, the Brit looking for lack of a better word at an absolute loss for words. It almost amused Desmond to see him like this, when he wasn't making jibes or stringing sarcastic criticisms his way every five minutes.

"What kind of messages?" There was no denying the urgency in William's voice as the man now spoke, cutting over any other attempt Shaun would have otherwise made to continue talking.

Desmond looked down at his entwined fingers.

"I'm not really sure… they were really vague for the most part. But one thing's for certain, the Apple did more harm than good the more it was abused. My guess is that he locked it away in the hopes that whoever found those keys would be able to decode his memories and find a way to destroy it."

There was a heavy silence.

"… Did he? Did Ezio destroy the Apple?"

Desmond sighed, lifting his eyes to lock them on Rebecca's as the woman spoke.

"No. He left it there, in Masyaf. That was the one which was destroyed in the Denver accident a while back."

Rebecca's eyes widened in recognition, her mouth parting to form a small 'o' shape. Desmond reached down to pick up his coffee mug once more, using the moment of reprieve granted to him to finish off his now lukewarm drink. He then stood up from the couch, stretched his arms above his head, and he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

_I really need to rest…_

He felt like he hadn't slept in weeks.

"I'm going upstairs," he announced brusquely, waving his hand and ignoring the others as they shared looks and made to stand from their own seats to follow him.

"Wait, Desmond, we're not done here yet!"

"Sorry, but  _I_ am. I'm damn tired and I feel like I'm the walking dead right now so unless you want me to go into a coma again, I'm callin' it a night." His tone was clipped and short, clearly indicating that he was not in the mood for this right now. He had almost made it halfway towards the wooden staircase when one voice rose above the others, making him stop in his tracks – his hand pausing from where it was hovering over the balustrade.

"Son, Shaun told me about those glyphs that Sixteen left behind in the animus…"

Desmond grew still, his heart almost skipping a beat in his chest. He inhaled slowly, counting to three before he turned his head to glance at his father from over his shoulder. On the outside he hoped he appeared calm, but on the inside… he was panicking.

What did this mean? Had his father somehow found out about the incident with Clay on the island? He didn't think it was likely, seeing as Clay's exact words prior to that had been that no one could help them as they spoke together on the shoreline. The monitoring systems had all been shut down, giving them absolute privacy. Searching his father's steely gaze right now, the more Desmond confirmed that that was indeed the case. No, his father was getting at something else… but what?

He swallowed thickly. And that's when realisation dawned.

It wasn't fear that he was feeling – clawing its way through his stomach and twisting sickeningly like some serpent about to strike. It was something akin to disquiet.

Anger.

"His name is Clay."

He had spoken those words before he could stop himself, voice laced with a quiet venom. Desmond only half-wondered what had possessed him to speak out in such a way; the other half was seeping in satisfaction at seeing his father's expression finally crack under that emotionless mask he always wore, William now narrowing his own eyes at his son. Behind him Desmond could hear Shaun's muttering, a confused " _is?_ " slipping past his lips. He ignored him.

"What about the glyphs?" His hand remained poised over the balustrade. William folded his arms across his chest, the older man regarding his son carefully.

"Were there any more left from him? Anything that could tell us a bit more about what we're up against?"

Desmond turned around, now stepping onto the first set of stairs. He ascended two at a time, pausing when he was halfway to the second landing. As he did he stared straight ahead of him, his tone final.

"No."

And with that he left them, eager to find a place to crash for the night so he could forget about all of this.

* * *

The upstairs was cosy and warm, floor covered in carpet and pictures of landscapes lining the walls. The bathroom was reasonably large and tiled in beige much like the façade of the house, and as he had towelled himself down after his shower Desmond had thought that he had stepped into nirvana itself. It had honestly felt like centuries since he had soaked his weary limbs under a spray of hot water, and it was with great difficulty that he forced himself out of the shower and into the first bedroom he had come across, directly opposite the bathroom.

The bed was king sized with mattress and quilts already made. The curtains – a ghastly shade of green which made them look something akin to the colour of puke – were drawn and hung from the ceiling to the floor. Desmond paid them no mind, not feeling particularly fussed about the choice in interior decorating at this moment, and he had laid himself down atop the bed and had fallen asleep the very minute his head had hit the soft pillow.

It was only when his eyes had opened and he had stirred some time later, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath, that he realised how tired he truly was. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes – willing the last remaining shreds of fatigue to slip away from the hold they had over his brain.

Now managing somewhat successfully to keep his eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time, he blinked and glanced around him. It was then that he noticed two things. The first being that he was not lying down on the bed in the room he had remembered falling asleep in, and the second being that he was not alone.

He tensed, now feeling alert. He didn't know where he was, but the fields of green grass stretching out before his eyes and the faint sounds of waves lapping against the shore instilled within him a sense of great disquiet. For a moment he felt sick. It was almost like he was back on the island.

Almost.

"Man you really have a fucked up mindset if you dream about being stuck in the animus even when you're not."

Desmond's eyes widened, and he whipped his head around. That voice…

"Clay…?" Desmond's voice was thankfully calm, though the air of distrust was strong in his tone. He swallowed and turned his head to the right, just as he could see shape take form, and from form, the image of a body materialised in front of his sight.

And there he was. That cocky grin. Those piercing blue eyes and tousled blond hair. He should have known.

"Been a while, Des. Missed me?"

Desmond couldn't answer. Clay's lips twitched into a lopsided smirk and the blond shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he approached the brunet and stood before him, lazy amusement echoing in his crystalline eyes.

Desmond eventually found his voice, feeling himself slowly rousing from the stupor which had momentarily struck him dumb.

"How did… I thought… when did you… what the  _hell_ happened?!" Stumbling his way through his words, Desmond's demands rose into an angered yell as he scathingly eyed the man before him. Clay appeared nonplussed, the blond merely cocking his head to the side whilst he waited patiently for the other to calm himself.

"I  _lived_ in the animus, Desmond. You honestly think that deletion sequence was enough to get rid of me entirely?" He chuckled at length, sitting himself down on the grass and crossing his arms over his outstretched legs. Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"Well considering how you haven't shown up or said anything since then I was beginning to think so, yeah. You couldn't have even given me a warning or something? What the hell did you do? And what the hell is this place?" He added, glancing around him once more.

"Well considering that by taking me on I had no place to go other than the little electrical impulses inside your brain, I couldn't exactly tell you in the first place could I? And with the island breaking down like that I didn't really have the time," Clay answered easily, as if he was merely talking about the weather. "But as for where we are right now… weren't you listening a moment ago? I said it's a pretty fucked up dream of yours."

Desmond looked back down at him, the confusion clear in his deep brown eyes.

"This is… a dream?"

Clay rolled his eyes.

"How many more times do you want me to say it? Yes, Desmond. This is a dream.  _Your_ dream, to be exact. Don't give me that look. Just because it's a dream doesn't mean it's not real." He stifled a yawn with his hand, the blond closing his eyes momentarily and rolling his shoulders.

"To put it simply – I now exist in your subconscious. Long story short that's the only place I could latch onto in time – right in the very back of your brain. And before you freak the fuck out, no I can't control your body or whatever. I tried actually, several times just to poke you a message to say I was still around, but nada." He paused briefly, shrugging his shoulders as if to add emphasis to his words.

"So I have no choice but to just live here in limbo until you decide you're relaxed enough to fall into your subconscious, like when you're sleeping. And when you're asleep that just happens to be the best time for both of us to talk, so you don't have to worry about going crazy during waking hours. Isn't that nice?"

Desmond was silent for a moment, trying to take this information in. He paced slowly, his gaze directed towards the grass at his feet. For a dream, everything felt far too real for his liking. He could feel the soft gusts of the wind as it blew past, and the grass was scuffing against his shoes as he walked. He lifted his head, his expression guarded, wary.

"… You actually tried to control me?"

Clay rubbed the back of his neck, continuing to appear nonplussed by the obvious anger rising in the brunet's voice.

"I said it didn't work. Relax."

Desmond laughed drily.

"You honestly expect me to  _relax_ about this?! What the hell, man?!"

And just like that the man's unsettling blue gaze was upon him, effectively halting Desmond in his tracks. He fell silent, feeling uncertain under the silent scrutiny. He felt uncomfortable, like he had crossed the line somehow. Clay's gaze didn't waver, nor did the man even blink in the long minutes he stared calmly at the man before him. It was then that Desmond was reminded that he was dealing with a man older than him, a man who had been driven to the very heart of insanity before having his life ripped away by his own hand.

He was dangerous. In more ways than one.

Desmond took a step back, more so to give him some distance from the blond than as a form of apology for his outbursts.

Clay's gaze continued to remain unrelenting until the man closed his eyes, his lips pulling into a mockery of a smile.

"Why'd you do it?"

Desmond paused, honestly not expecting the question. He frowned, though he still kept his distance.

"Do what?"

"Agree to help me get out of there."

Desmond froze.

"I…" He trailed off, uncertain as to how to respond. Clay waited.

"I… really don't know…" The brunet sighed, squeezing his eyes shut as he rubbed his brow with his hand. He felt tired, which at any other time would have been somewhat ironic considering he was supposedly dreaming in the first place. "I guess I felt sorry for you."

He heard the sound of weight being shifted on the grass behind him and he turned his head to see Clay now sitting up straight, the man's brows arched in apparent disbelief.

"That's sweet of you, Desmond."

Desmond narrowed his eyes. Clay snickered, the man now looking thoroughly amused with the situation.

"What reason could you possibly have to feel sorry for a guy like me? You've seen what I did to your room in Abstergo, after all – well, the real Clay, anyway. Not to mention his little hacked files in the animus gave you a larger headache than all the stress about the end of the world combined."

Desmond sat down, a quiet groan slipping past his lips. On the subject of headaches, he was starting to think he would be getting one very soon.

"It wasn't your fault."

There was a brief pause.

"Come again?"

Desmond grunted faintly.

"I said it wasn't your fault. Sure things got really fucked up for you in the end, but it was Abstergo who made you like that. It's all on them. It's not your fault."

There was another brief pause. Desmond chanced a glance at the man before him, the brunet not knowing whether to be unsettled or not at the lack of emotion in Clay's face. The man was simply staring at him, his eyes unreadable.

"I don't need your pity."

Desmond scoffed.

"Then don't take it. You asked me why I helped you and I'm tellin' you. Now do you have anything else to say or can I go to sleep and get some proper rest now?" He was perhaps a little too harsh with his words, but at that moment the brunet couldn't find it within himself to care. This… conversation that they were having, however the hell they were having it, was a severe drain on his mind to keep up. He had felt himself growing steadily more fatigued the longer they sat here, even though it hadn't been very long since they'd first started speaking to one another.

Clay didn't respond for a long moment, the man instead seeming content with studying the younger man carefully with that same unreadable expression. At length he appeared to snap out of it, his lips twitching into another mockery of a smirk as he gave a dry chuckle.

"Sure. Whatever you say. It's your mind after all." He stood up, sighing and stretching his arms above his head before returning his hands to his jeans pockets. Desmond would have given him the finger or offered some kind of retort were he in any other position right now, but as it was he could only stifle a yawn with the back of his hand.

He stood, dusting himself off. Already he could feel his mind start to slip, the corners of his vision steadily growing dark with the onset of sleep. Just before he could give himself over to the call of rest, he heard Clay speak once more.

"Hey, Desmond… I forgot to mention… thanks. For sticking up for me out there earlier. When your dad asked about me."

Desmond vaguely wondered in the back of his brain how Clay could have possibly known about that, but then he should have realised that there would have been no possible reason why he  _wouldn't_. To quote Clay's words, he did live inside his head now, much to his chagrin.

He sighed. He would have time to think about this properly when he woke up.

"You're welcome."

And with that, the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

They had been there for four days.

During that time, there was much to be learnt about the safe house that the group of assassins had been given. It was a private estate - three floors including an attic - and according to William it had been leased out to them for as long as they would need by this 'Harold' person he'd mentioned the very day they'd first arrived. During this time, Desmond found himself often wandering the various rooms and corridors, taking in the pictures on the walls of the local farmlands and communities. The house reminded him of a cabin - a fishing cabin, specifically, if the many fishing trophies adorning the kitchen and living room walls were anything to go by. There was nothing in the attic, however - and it was plain to see that much of the property had been either abandoned or simply never used.

He preferred it like this, though. After all, the peace and quiet was greatly welcomed after everything he'd been through over the past month. He was able to wake up without the threat of Vidic standing over him or being told to throw himself in another session, and he was able to sit down with the others for dinner and just eat without having to talk about the end of the world. He knew Rebecca and Shaun had done their best to put William off his case, demanding he rest for a while longer after his coma, but, unfortunately, all good things were destined to come to an end.

It started that morning.

The coffee had long since gone cold. Rebecca grunted in mild exasperation as she walked into the kitchen that morning, eager to grab a cup for herself before she began tweaking around making final adjustments on the animus.

She paused in her tracks however when she turned around with her cup in hand, on her way to microwave the contents to warm her drink up. She frowned.

"Desmond?"

The brunet stirred faintly at the sound of her voice, Desmond seated at the kitchen table looking self-absorbed as he idly flicked through the pages of the book he was reading. He hadn't noticed anyone come in.

"Morning."

He looked back down at the words before him on the pages – the black inked lines seeming smudged and blurred before his sight. He wasn't focusing on them, rather his attention was elsewhere. On the moment he had woken up that first morning since coming here, in particular.

"You feeling ok?"

He grunted something in response. He wasn't entirely sure. After all he had wondered that very thing himself the moment his eyes had opened and he had been greeted with the sunlight filtering in through the curtains – memories of that encounter that fateful night within his dream only far too vivid at the forefront of his mind, as they so often had been these past four days.

Had it been real? Had Clay really been there? Had they actually spoken?

He wasn't sure. And even if it  _was_ real, there would be no way for Clay to let him be aware of his presence until he went to sleep again. He sighed. It was fucked up, to say the least. But he didn't know what was honestly more fucked up at this point - Clay having spoken to him in such a way in the first place, or the fact that it hadn't happened since the night of his arrival. It made him pause for thought again now, Desmond trying to mull the reasons why over in his brain.

He knew he hadn't been sleeping well since that first night, but surely that wouldn't have had anything to do with it? He frowned, his lips pulling into a pursed line. Apparently it did. When a loud beeping came from nearby, followed by the sound of a door opening and a mug being placed down near his as Rebecca sat herself down on the chair next to him, Desmond remembered that he had been asked a question.

"… What?"

Rebecca arched an eyebrow, looking rather unimpressed.

"I asked if you were ok. I'm gonna get Baby set up in five so you'd better finish in here if you want to get your session done."

Desmond sighed heavily, sitting upright in his chair and running his hands over his face.

"Can we give it another day or two? I feel like shit." It was better to say that than admit the truth at least. Rebecca looked at him sympathetically.

"Would if I could, Des. But your father wants you to go in today so you'd better take it up with him. We've spent too long as it is just waiting around."

"He's not gonna listen," Desmond's tone was bitter. Rebecca gave an apologetic grimace.

"'Fraid not."

They sat there in continued silence. Eventually Rebecca was the first to move, the raven haired woman sighing softly and pushing away from the table and standing from her seat.

"Get yourself feeling better and we'll start. If you need me, call out."

She walked out of the kitchen, sipping her coffee as she went. Desmond was left watching her retreating figure, a heavy sense of foreboding settling within his stomach. The very thought of re-entering the animus had him on edge, though it wasn't unusual. On the contrary it was a feeling he had come to grow very accustomed to over the course of the past month and a half, and the sooner he could finally be free of that thing for good, the better. For his mental health and the fate of the world combined.

But it was always a struggle to try and face that cursed technology – lately even more so after the incident on the island. He didn't know why, but the very thought of sitting back in that virtual prison was enough to make him pale and sit rooted to his chair. He didn't want to do this.

He  _didn't_ want to do this.

_But I'm going to have to._

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, steady breath. Slowly he stood from his chair, taking as much time as he needed in picking up his coffee and traversing hesitantly towards the living room. The sunlight continued to filter in and bask the couches in its golden glow – the weather outside looking perfect by all means. The blue of the sky was hypnotising, and Desmond felt goose bumps rise on the bared skin of his arms as he walked through the patches of sunlight, the kitchen having been quite cold.

He saw Rebecca tinkering around with the animus, the technician having taken up her usual place crouched before it – the nearby power boards opened to allow her to fiddle with the wires. She didn't even look up when he entered the room, but he knew she was all too aware of his presence behind her.

"Whenever you're ready, Desmond."

He nodded, his expression grim as he stared at the familiar red reclining seat. He swallowed the dread as best he could and took another sip of his coffee, hoping the caffeine would instil within him some sense of encouragement.

Footsteps entering the room drew his attention and he looked up to see his father approaching from the stairs.

"Ah, you're already down here, son. Good. The sooner we can get started the sooner we can figure out where to go from here."

"Yeah good morning to you too, dad."

William arched an eyebrow at the sarcasm in his son's tone, the man looking rather unamused as he stepped into the living room.

"Don't waste time on trivialities, boy. We've got a job to do."

Desmond snorted on his coffee, a barely audible retort of where his father could take his trivialities and stick them passing unheard from his lips. William glanced around the living room.

"Where's Shaun?"

Rebecca looked up.

"He went to grab some more supplies from the local market. He should be back in a few."

William nodded, crossing his arms over his chest before glancing around the living room again. He had a thoughtful look in his eyes, the man evidently thinking about something or other. Desmond didn't care for what, the brunet instead intent on taking as long as he could before getting into the animus.

"Stop wasting time, Desmond. The fate of the entire world is at stake here."

He sighed. Well so much for that.

"I've finished with the changes you wanted me to make, Bill. It should be all ready to go by now. With luck Desmond should be able to go for as long as he wants in there without us having to systematically pull him out."

William grunted in acknowledgement to Rebecca's words, the man heading into the kitchen to grab himself some coffee. Desmond remained standing, doing his best to control his breathing. He hated being talked about like he wasn't there. He could feel his skin crawl.

"Yeah, while we're on the subject of extending these animus sessions until I end up in a hospital ward drooling and chewing on my tongue, how about I start getting some answers here? Like who the hell this guy is who gave us the safe house, for starters!" He snapped. He'd been asking his father this continuously since they'd arrived, and not once had the man given him a tangible answer. He was starting to get pissed off.

William and Rebecca turned their heads to look at him. Desmond refused to cave in under their stares.

"Desmond, we—"

"Yeah, yeah, 'we don't have any time for this shit, Desmond, you need to get back in the animus.' Well I'm not gettin' in there until I get some answers because I'm not sure I trust this guy." He knew he was crossing the line enough as it was here, but at the same time the sooner he started finding out just what exactly was going on, the sooner he could put his suspicions to rest. After all following everything that had happened with Lucy, he had found it increasingly more difficult to trust people just because they did a few favours here and there.

William continued to hold his son's stare, matching Desmond's heated gaze with one of his own until the older man eventually sighed.

"A friend of the family."

Desmond snorted.

"Real specific."

"Whoever this friend of the family is, I owe him one for setting up the place how he did. The power supply's more than adequate, and the fact he's given us proper surveillance so we can check if Abstergo's onto us before they even know it is a real life saver," Rebecca piped up. She could certainly pick the most opportune moments to step in before father and son were inevitably at one another's throats – that was for sure.

William looked at her, ignoring Desmond who had given an angry snarl and went back to sculling his coffee down.

"I wouldn't be surprised. Harold's entire family runs one of the best engineering companies in the city. And of course it's fortunate for us and everyone else that they also happen to be on our side. If the Kaczmarek's were aligned with the Templars, well… I'd hate to think about it. What happened with Clay was bad enough as it was. I don't think Harold ever quite got over his son's death."

The sound of ceramic shattering against the tiled floor made both Rebecca and William jump, the pair glancing down wide-eyed at Desmond who had cussed sharply when his mug had dropped from his hands.

His heart pounding feverishly inside of his chest he bent down, quickly picking up the scattered remnants of his cup and shaking his head when Rebecca made to help him.

"Don't… don't worry about it. It's fine. I'll get this cleaned up," he mumbled. Rebecca gave him an odd look but didn't press him for any form of answers, Desmond instead scrambling up and jogging towards the kitchen to find the rubbish bin. He was trembling.

_Clay? Harold is Clay's father?_

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his limbs continuing to feel uncharacteristically weak. He never recalled Clay saying anything overwhelmingly positive about his father during the small talks they had made on the island. As it was Desmond had gathered that the two had been at odds much like how Desmond and his own father were – though the difference here being that Clay's father had often demanded money from him, with the conflict between the two becoming so bad that Clay's mother had left her husband and had ended up killing herself while drink driving shortly afterwards. Desmond felt a twinge of pain surge within his chest, and he hastily busied himself with dumping the rest of the mug into the trash.

Did Clay even know that his father had built this place for the assassins? Desmond was under the impression that Harold didn't even know his own son had become an assassin in the first place. Or perhaps he  _did_ know… and this was his way of making amends. His brain was swimming with possibilities and questions, and he found that at that moment he wished Clay was here so he could get some answers from him.

_Clay… can you hear me?_

He didn't know why he was standing there thinking this - after all Clay had told him that he could only speak to him when Desmond's mind was relaxed enough to slip into his subconscious. But somehow he felt that Clay probably could gather what was going on in his mind to some extent… and if he could, he wanted him to know that he damn well wanted to talk about this.

He waited for another moment or two, wondering if this might by some crazy chance actually work. He chuckled drily when after a whole of five minutes he remained stuck with nothing. He sighed.

"Desmond, you're being stupid…" he muttered to himself under his breath as he dusted his hands off and walked back out into the living room.

"Are you ready to stop screwing around now?"

Desmond didn't even bother to acknowledge his father as he walked straight over to the animus, lying down and swallowing the bile threatening to rise within his throat as he did so. He focused on his breathing as Rebecca tapped away on the nearby keyboard.

"So what do you want me to look for, exactly?" He hoped his voice was steady.

"I just wanna get some fresh perspective on the message you said Ezio left for you in Altaïr's library. I wasn't able to record anything when you were in your coma," Rebecca explained.

Desmond groaned. Once was more than enough for that particular memory.

"Fine."

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth when he felt the raven haired woman press the IV cord into his arm. The pin prick of the needle against his flesh made him wince momentarily, and soon enough he could feel the drowsiness settle in as his mind was forced to relax.

His vision went black and he succumbed to the memories within his DNA.

* * *

 

"Incredible… absolutely incredible."

"That temple Tinia was talking about… Shaun, do you think you can get a diagnosis on where that is?"

"Possibly. Give me a moment."

Desmond slowly opened his eyes, the sounds of voices lulling him out of the limbo state between consciousness. When he blinked and looked wearily around he found himself staring at his father, Rebecca and Shaun, the three bent over the nearby computer monitors and being so absorbed with whatever it was they were looking at that they appeared to have not noticed Desmond having woken up.

He winced, feeling a steady grogginess settling over his brain as he blinked away the last few remnants of the memory in front of his mind. He swung his legs over the side of the animus and steadily sat himself up, testing his feet and balance before striding over to the others, leaning over their shoulders to catch sight of what the British historian was typing away relentlessly at on the computer.

"Desmond, it's moments like this when I wish I could send your ancestor a gift basket back in time," Shaun announced rather satisfactorily as he turned his head to allow the brunet a better look at the screen. Desmond arched an eyebrow but added no comment, his attention already drawn towards the image of a wind farm which appeared to be out in the country somewhere, surrounded by fields littered with thick shoots of grass.

"Where the hell is this?"

Shaun scoffed.

" _This_ , Desmond, is where we're headed next.  _This_ is just merely the place where, oh, I dunno, that temple we're looking for is located?"

Desmond rolled his eyes, otherwise ignoring the man.

"And the best part is we're in the right place. It's here in America. And according to this, from where we are right now it's only about a four hour drive. It's farmland, but there's no registered owner. With a bit of luck we can technically walk straight on through and have a poke around."

William glanced approvingly at the historian, the grey haired man lifting his hand to idly stroke his fingers through his beard.

"We'll head out there at first light tomorrow."

Desmond promptly felt his jaw drop.

"You can't be serious…"

William turned to face his son, his expression certainly implying that he had in fact meant those very words.

"I'm sorry but in case you've forgotten Desmond, the fate of the world is at stake here and we've no time for any more rest than is necessary.  _You_  especially."

Just like that, Desmond felt his blood boil. He grit his teeth, and he wasn't entirely sure what made him reach his hand out to fist it warningly around his father's shirt collar, but the seething satisfaction that coursed through him upon seeing William's composure falter as a stunned choke was forced out of him was reward enough. Behind him he was sure he heard two horrified gasps from the others present, but right now the brunet found he didn't give a damn. Once he started... he couldn't stop. He didn't want to.

"Sure, it's easy for you to say that,  _dad_. You're not the one who's spent the past fuckin' month and a half inside that machine! You're no better than Vidic, you know that?! How long's it gonna be until you drive me into the ground on that thing, huh? How long will it be until I share Clay's fate and end up painting  _symbols on the walls?_   _YOU TELL ME, WILLIAM. HOW LONG?!_ "

The man's hand moved before Desmond had time to react. The next minute a sharp, dull ache spread through his head and seemed to reverberate through his entire jaw as William's fist found his son's face, Desmond grunting out in pain and staggering back as he gripped at his cheek.

Rebecca stifled a gasp and rushed forwards to steady Desmond as he stumbled, still grunting in dull agony. He blinked, his eyes watering as he raised his gaze to see the livid face of his father. He spat out the blood which had pooled at the side of his jaw, and he did his best to straighten himself up again, indicating to Rebecca that he no longer needed her help.

The silence which followed was almost deafening.

" _You watch your fucking tone with me, boy_ ," William spat, his tone feral as he growled at the man before him. "Don't you  _EVER_ speak to me like that again!"

Desmond sneered at him.

"I'll talk to you however I fucking want! Is  _this_  all you care about, dad? Christ – you don't even recognise me as your own son anymore, do you?! All you want is results. You never care about the process needed to  _get_ them. Well I'm fucking done! If you want to save the world so badly, how about  _YOU_ sit in the animus instead?  _They're your ancestors too, you know!_ "

He turned around and stormed towards the stairs, not even glancing back when he heard Shaun's and Rebecca's calls for him to calm down and rethink his words. He was seeing red, his limbs trembling. It felt like his very veins were on fire with the rage swallowing him whole. He ran – taking the steps two at a time – and he darted towards his room and made to slam the door shut behind him.

He panted, sliding down against the floor and letting out a low groan. He drew his legs up to his chest and folded his arms over his knees, burying his head against his hands.

He needed to get out of here.

It took him a moment to calm himself enough that his chest could stop heaving, but it wasn't enough as he raised his head once more and glanced around the bedroom he found himself in. He studied it carefully. He couldn't lock the door to prevent them from coming in and demanding an apology from him, but what he  _could_ do was make sure that he wouldn't be here when they did come barging inside.

His gaze landed on the window. It was half open, letting in the warm afternoon breeze from outside. A tree was growing right by the windowsill, and provided he could get enough leverage from the edge of the window itself he could probably land a clean jump right into its branches. They looked thick enough to support his weight without snapping.

He smiled grimly.

Perfect.

He stood up and strode quickly towards the window, gritting his teeth as he heaved it the rest of the way up. It groaned in protest, the glass rattling as it was shoved, but eventually it gave way and rose up. He stood back, taking in the size of the window. He could fit through if he carefully angled himself out by slipping his legs through first and then sliding himself down so that he would be gripping the base of the window pane by his fingers… and then it would just be a matter of using the momentum as he pushed away from the window to swing around and grab onto the tree branch before he would inevitably fall to the ground.

He didn't have any time to think of another strategy as he heard footsteps thundering up the stairs outside. He sprinted towards the window, threaded his legs through and dropped down, grunting as his fingers scraped against the splintered wood of the panel beneath. Gritting his teeth against the pain he steadied his feet against the brick, took a deep breath, and just as his bedroom door crashed open he pushed away and swung his arms towards the tree branch behind him. He caught it, almost crying out in relief as it didn't show any sign of snapping, and he hauled himself up into the branches.

Seeing another set of boughs below he dropped down, wasting no time in beginning his hasty descent to the ground below as the angered shouts of his father echoed down from above.

Desmond hit the ground with a thud as he dropped from the last branch, and without looking back he took off, sprinting as fast as his legs could take him.

He didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than here.

* * *

 

There was a lake near the outskirts of the property. It was quiet, secluded, and Desmond didn't stop running until he came to the bank and threw himself down on the ground with a heavy gasp for breath.

He could see the house from here – barely. Which was absolutely fine by him. He reckoned it would take the others a fairly long time to catch up to him, considering there had been many obstacles in the way such as fallen trees and logs.

He'd managed to scrape himself on one of said logs, and even now he cussed faintly to himself as he gingerly prodded at his thigh. His jeans had been ripped where the jutting out branch had hit him as he'd leapt over it, and he sighed at his own stupidity. But that was neither here nor there. He had a place he could rest. He laid out on his back, listening to the calming chirping of birds overhead and gazing up at the blue expanse of sky above.

He inhaled slowly, held his breath, and then exhaled – feeling his heartbeat slow back down to a more normal pace. The run had certainly done him some good, and perhaps even the injury had woken him up a bit more to the state of things back at the safe house. He knew he'd crossed the line by what he had said to his father, what he'd  _done_ to him, but he had no intention of taking any of it back. It was true. All of it. He'd sooner jump off a cliff than admit otherwise.

He closed his eyes, wanting a distraction to avoid thinking back on that again. So he instead focused on what he could hear and what he could feel – the wind gently brushing over his face and the sound of the birds calming him like nothing could at that moment. And soon enough he felt himself slip away.

Into what, he didn't know. But what he did know was that after a moment of relaxation, a state of mind he hadn't felt since he'd first arrived, he was acutely aware of the presence of another beside him. He opened his eyes.

"Clay?"

The blond was staring down at him, an amused smile on his pale lips.

"Took you long enough. I've been itching to talk to you for a few days now."

Desmond scoffed, sitting himself upright and looking around him. He was still at the lake, that was for sure. He frowned. Odd.

He didn't have any more time to focus on that as Clay sat himself down next to him, sighing softly as he spread his arms out behind his back and tilted his head up to glance at the sky.

"I have to say you're getting better at this whole meditation thing. I can't tell you how nice it is being able to see a proper sky for once instead of a black room in a computer."

Desmond fell silent, uncertain as to how exactly he should respond to something like that.

"… I'm not dreaming then?" That was the best he could manage for the moment. Clay chuckled.

"Nup. But I'm pretty sure if they come past here right about now and see you it'd look like you're lying down in a trance talking to yourself."

Desmond didn't have to ask who 'they' referred to. He turned his head, crossing his arms over his legs and he gazed out at the lake, watching the ripples in the water as a duck waded in and splashed away.

Neither spoke for a moment, but presently it was Clay who broke the silence. His tone was relatively soft, and his expression was guarded.

"You feeling ok?"

He received a stiff nod in reply, Desmond's fingers clenching ever so faintly.

"Yeah. I will be, anyway."

Clay nodded his understanding – indeed the blond didn't even appear to want to make some snide remark like he normally would in any such circumstance. Desmond was tempted to thank him for that. Instead he settled on tilting his head back and eliciting a sharp sigh.

"You probably heard everything… didn't you."

Clay smiled grimly.

"And here I thought  _my_ dad was bad," he muttered offhandedly. Desmond scoffed.

"It's not even that… it's the fact that after everything I've done, everything I'm  _still_ doing – he just can't get his fucking head out of his ass to see what this is turning him into! I wasn't joking when I said he was turning out like Vidic. I meant every fucking word of it. He's going to push me to my death just like he did with you and the moment he realises that it's going to be too late."

He stopped abruptly when he realised what he had just said. He froze, chancing a nervous sidewards glance at the man sitting silently next to him, and he felt his stomach lurch uneasily.

"Sorry…"

Clay waved it off, looking nonplussed. Whether the man was simply doing that to reassure Desmond or not, he didn't know. But it worked. Somewhat.

"Desmond, when are you going to realise that anything you say about my death isn't going to upset me?" He chuckled, his smile widening slightly. But try as he might, he just couldn't seem to perfectly mask the anguish which was clearly evident in his crystalline eyes. Desmond could have kicked himself.

"Yeah well..." he paused, sighing heavily and rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Did you know?" He asked quietly a moment later, quickly changing the subject. Clay cocked his head to the side and faced the other with rapt attention.

"Know what?"

"About this place... your dad..."

Clay blinked, looking at the younger man for a moment longer, until a tired smile formed on his lips and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Honestly? No. We stopped talking about a year before I was sent off to Abstergo. He would have given this house over to Bill during that time, I suppose. I'll admit, I didn't even know he  _knew_ Bill in the first place. Sly bastard." He chuckled drily. Desmond watched him, his eyes following the way Clay's expression turned thoughtful and his blue eyes clouded over as if he was reliving something in his head. He nodded, accepting that response and leaning back, his hands splaying out on the grass behind him.

He was about to speak up again when he was stopped by a hand reaching out to him – and he stilled when he felt warm fingers gingerly caressing the side of his jaw. His mind went blank for all of a few seconds, and then he quickly tried to slap the hand away. Clay only frowned and cupped Desmond's jaw with his thumb and forefinger, keeping the brunet's head in place.

"H-hey what the hell are y—"

"Shut up and sit still for a moment. Your cheek's bruised," Clay snapped, effectively silencing the younger man's protest. Desmond's eyes widened momentarily, and he ceased his struggling. He blinked.

"Really?"

He was met with a nod, Clay resuming tracing along the edge of Desmond's jaw, his brows furrowed in evident contemplation. His pale lips were drawn into a thin line, and if he didn't know any better – Desmond would have thought that the blond looked… angry.

"You might wanna do something about that before tomorrow," he muttered under his breath as he withdrew his hand. Desmond's cheek prickled faintly with the removal of the faint pressure that had been there from the other's fingers. He nodded, cautiously reaching up his own hand to prod lightly at the afflicted area. He winced.

"If I haven't said it enough before, I'm gonna say it again now just to reiterate. Your dad's a real piece of work."

Desmond smiled grimly at that, removing his hand and lowering his gaze to the ground.

"That's why I left the Farm in the first place. Believe me I wasn't exactly happy either to find his face being the first one I saw when I woke up from that coma."

Clay's lips twitched faintly into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile.

"What, surprised it wasn't me? Is that what you're getting at?" He chuckled. Desmond shrugged, otherwise ignoring the teasing jibe.

"To be honest, yeah. Considering everything that happened in the animus I thought you'd actually managed to physically get out."

There was a brief silence, Clay looking pensive as he contemplated Desmond's words. He toyed with his fingers, lacing them together in front of him as he turned his attention to the nearby lake.

"You know that can't happen until—"

"Until we find you a body somewhere, yeah I know," Desmond sighed, rubbing his eyes. He had been hoping to avoid talking about this at least for a while longer, but the more they put it off the more it would only inconvenience them later on. "Do you have any idea how you're going to pull that off?"

He already knew the answer, though he didn't want to admit it to himself. The very thought made him sick to his stomach, and it was one of the reasons why he had originally been so hesitant to agree to Clay's plan in the first place. But now that that bridge had already been crossed… well. There was no going back.

Clay looked at Desmond out the corner of his eye, his expression grim.

"One. But you're not gonna like it."

Desmond scoffed.

"There's nothing about this I like."

Clay shrugged, seeming to thoroughly agree with that sentiment. He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Hospitals are a good place to start… stop on by one and find, say, a patient who's in a coma…"

Desmond closed his eyes. This was  _exactly_ what he had been afraid of.

"In other words let you take over someone else's body. And not just  _any_ someone. Someone who just so conveniently happens to be on death's door and likely won't put up much of a fight when you suddenly invade their head, am I right?"

Clay shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Desmond's stare as the brunet opened his eyes again and trained them accusingly on the blond beside him.

"Well—"

"Do you have any idea how  _wrong_  that is?!" He hadn't meant to raise his voice, to sound so enraged over this, especially since he  _knew_ what would have to happen – but nonetheless hearing it out loud didn't do anything to subdue his anger. In fact, talking about it now only seemed to make it worse. He was almost seeing red.

Clay's eyes narrowed and his posture shifted, the man now standing up and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets as he began to pace back and forth in front of Desmond, looking both agitated and conflicted.

"I told you you weren't gonna like it!" He snapped back, his tone now raising to match Desmond's own enraged snarl. "Besides if you  _knew_ what would have to happen then why the fuck did you agree to get me out of there in the first place?!"

Desmond stood up himself, not even taking a moment to dust himself off before he growled and fisted a hand around the collar of Clay's shirt, drawing closer so their faces were merely inches apart.

"I already told youwhy I agreed to get you out of there! And it doesn't exactly help if you don't bother telling me  _shit_ until JUST NOW!"

He let the man go, pushing him back. Clay's eyes were narrowed, his blue irises seeming to burn with an almost livid hatred for the man in front of him. Desmond didn't care. He raised his hands and buried them in his hair, gripping lightly and taking deep breaths to calm himself. When next he spoke he had managed to reign in some of his anger, his words coming out as a soft hiss of a whisper.

"What's done is done."

Clay scoffed, keeping his distance as he continued to narrow his eyes at the other man. A heavy silence drew over the pair, thick and uncomfortable. Desmond slumped back down to the ground, gritting his teeth.

Clay remained standing.

The breeze rustled high overhead, the branches of the nearby oak trees swaying lightly in time with the gusts of wind.

"For what it's worth, I… don't want to have to do this either. You're not wrong, you know. To be angry about this."

Desmond warily glanced up at Clay who had spoken, the blond's tone quiet and resigned.

"I don't wanna talk about this," he muttered. Clay sighed.

"Yeah well I do. Just shut the fuck up and let me finish."

Desmond scowled, but nevertheless he remained silent – though his expression clearly urged the other to be out with it already.

"I get why you're upset… but listen to me, Desmond. You don't know what it's like, to be at death's door like that. Ok? I do. I do because I used what last shred of sanity I had left to ensure I could upload my glyphs into the animus databanks for you, so  _you_ could find them and decode them to piece me back together. The me standing here right now may just be a computer program, but it's still  _me._   _I'm_  still Clay Kaczmarek. I was constructed from his thoughts, his memories, his appearance... I've felt everything he ever felt. Still  _do_ feel everything! Every single goddamn thing that happened in his life has happened in mine, and when I close my eyes my head still swims with all the visions and plans he made leading up to his own suicide. So I sure as hell know  _exactly_ how it feels to barely have a conscience left to live on!" He stepped forwards, growing eagerness mounting in his words.

"If I take over someone's body, they wouldn't even know it. They wouldn't know it because they wouldn't have anything left to feel with - they're just living corpses. They're  _exactly_ what I was before I took that pen to my wrists and sprayed my blood all over the walls for your sorry ass! But this time… I'm going to be able to do something I couldn't do when I was alive. I can make someone's life better. I can  _give_ life to someone instead of taking it away! When they wake up, they're not going to be without a brain to function on! Sure it'll be my movements that direct theirs, it'll be my thoughts they carry inside their head, but they'll be  _alive_ and they'll have a second chance! And not only will it be me you're bringing back, but it'll also be someone who'll  _die_  otherwise when it could have been prevented!"

His eyes were filled with pleading – that same expression as he had worn back when he had first proposed the idea to Desmond on the island. Even now Desmond felt himself torn in the same conflict he had borne then. He wanted to trust Clay's words, but he found he couldn't. Not fully, at least. Clay seemed to sense this, as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

When he spoke up again his voice was hoarse. Broken, even.

"Just… think about what I've said. That's all I'm asking."

Desmond looked down at the ground, his fingers lacing together over his legs as he drew his knees back up to his chest.

He nodded stiffly, but didn't say anything else.

Clay exhaled softly.

"You should go," Desmond announced presently, his tone clipped. Clay froze.

"I… yeah. Yeah, ok." He muttered. Desmond continued to refuse to look at him.

"The sooner you get out of my head, the better," he added. Clay nodded. He spared a final glance at the brunet, Clay's crystal blue eyes appearing to search Desmond's face for any other sign that he wanted to say something else. Upon finding nothing he sighed again, and Desmond was left alone in the confines of his own mind as broken blue fragments shimmered and faded away, Clay disappearing entirely. Just how he so often would on the island.

When he woke up and found himself back on the banks by the lake he had first slipped away into the realm of his subconscious at, Desmond took a moment to compose himself before sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

With a heavy heart as he looked around him, he knew what it was that he had to do.


	3. Chapter 3

It was late in the night – almost midnight in fact – when he eventually gathered the courage to head back to the house. His limbs ached as he used the tree branches to ease himself up to the height of his window, which was thankfully still open. He heaved himself inside, grunting when he rolled onto the floorboards and he stood up to close the window, the glass screeching in faint protest.

He dusted himself off, paying no mind to the nicks and bruises on his skin, and he cautiously opened his door to peer out into the corridor. No one was up here that he could see and what's more the bathroom light wasn't on, which meant he was afforded a fair bit of privacy at the current moment in time. Not wanting to waste this chance he darted into the bathroom and quietly closed the door behind him, then he proceeded to turn on the light and then the tap at the sink and wash his face. As he did so, the cool water waking him up a little and clearing his head of his turbulent thoughts, he caught sight of the angry swelling upon his cheek where his father had hit him earlier. He grit his teeth, gingerly tracing the bruise and he hissed when he accidentally applied too much pressure, pain shooting through his jaw.

He cussed under his breath.

Drying his hands on the nearby towel and using the cloth to dampen the water on his face, he stood there for a moment longer and contemplated his next move. He would need to be careful, that much was certain, and above all else he had to ensure he wouldn't be caught.

For a moment Desmond wondered if slipping past Shaun and Rebecca – if they were down there – to access their computers would be an easier feat than slipping past the roaming eyes of guards as Ezio or Altaïr. He severely doubted it. For starters, Shaun and Rebecca were assassins just like himself. And their computers were harboured with as much caution as either assassin paid to constantly assessing Abstergo's every movements in the Templar's pursuit to catch them. In short, he probably didn't have a chance.

But then again, he was used to working against all odds. And considering what time it was, with a bit of luck the pair had decided to retire early for the night.

Smiling grimly he pulled away from the sink, turning around to open the bathroom door and taking a moment to check that the hallway was indeed still clear. It was. Moving with as much silence as his feet would allow on the carpeted corridor he edged his way closer to the stairs, beginning his descent. Every so often he would pause again, waiting with bated breath and listening for any sign of movement. Eventually he reached the bottom floor, and cautiously he peered around into the living room where the animus was still set up by the couches. He almost exhaled sharply in relief. No one was here.

Ignoring the faint grumble of his stomach reminding him that he hadn't had anything all day aside from one small cup of coffee, he sat himself down on the chair that Rebecca would often occupy, and Desmond set to work on booting the monitor up. When the familiar desktop screen greeted him, he furrowed his brows and tried to remember the correct password when it prompted him. He had received an email listing the user accounts of his fellow assassins back when he had been trying to locate Ezio's Apple of Eden down in the ruins of the Auditore Villa, and he could remember those codes for the most part. Of course they may have changed (Shaun's had  _definitely_ changed), but somehow he felt that Rebecca wouldn't be one to switch her passwords as obsessively as Shaun. There was only one way to find out.

He typed and pressed 'Enter'. He then waited.

_Access Granted. Welcome, Rebecca Crane._

He let out a sigh of relief and began searching through the documents the technician had saved on her hard drive. What he was searching for was a list – for what, he didn't know. But he needed names. Names and locations.

Maybe if there was someone in the order, an assassin like them…

He bit his lip, clicking away at the mouse and typing on the keyboard. It wasn't until close to fifteen minutes later that he had finally found what he was looking for. His fingers shaking, he drew in a breath and held it as he looked at the list of names spread out before his eyes.

He'd found the assassins that had worked with his father. On the top of the list, both Clay and his father were mentioned. He felt the knot tighten in his stomach and he dropped his gaze towards the rest of the names, willing himself to focus his attention elsewhere.

And that was when he found it.

The second to last name on the list.

Frowning, he clicked the profile tag and read through the data.

"Mark Landers…" He muttered aloud, looking at the date of birth. He was two years younger than Clay, he noted. But that was not what had made him choose this man's file out of all the others present. It was his current location.

"County hospital… intensive care unit… comatose until further notice given…"

He closed his eyes and lifted a trembling hand to his brow.

It was almost too easy.

_Clay… I know you can hear me, you bastard. You knew about this guy being in ICU, didn't you? It wasn't a random spur of the moment suggestion you had when you talked about going to find a comatose patient in a hospital._

He grit his teeth.

_You fucking KNEW._

The worst part would be that it all made perfect sense. By searching up Mark's files, Desmond had learned two very valuable things tonight. Firstly, that he had found a means to finally separate Clay from himself and give him a body back, and secondly that Mark had worked with his father in the past and was a known assassin and therefore he could be trusted. That way when 'Mark' finally  _did_ come out of his coma, he would be welcomed back with open arms and wouldn't be given any benefit of the doubt. So long as Clay acted the part, no one would know who he really was. No one except for Desmond, that is.

He chuckled bitterly.

_You're a fucking genius._

And it was also because of that very reason that Desmond had found himself grudgingly agreeing to this insane plan in the first place.

He closed Mark's file and took a moment to gather his thoughts. He had been lying outside by that lake for most of the evening running the idea over in his mind again and again until he could almost recall every single argument he had fought with himself word for word.

He hated the idea of this, of someone's conscience being wrestled from them and leaving them with nothing. But at the same time, he had found some truth in Clay's explanation, however painful that truth was. Mark had been in a coma for two years, according to his file. It was unlikely he would be waking up any time soon. The only thing that was keeping him alive were the machines he was hooked up to day and night. It was only a matter of time until the body did the rest and gave up by its own natural means.

But if Clay managed to embed himself within Mark's body, it wouldn't be just one but the  _both_ of them who would be able to live once again. Clay would have a walking, talking, physical form to call his own, and Mark wouldn't end up dying needlessly. Of course he wouldn't be conscious for any of it, but his memory would live on in Clay's hands.

The man had certainly done his homework, Desmond had to admit. But then again… as someone who had been on death's door once before, who better to trust regarding something like this than Clay himself?

That had been the breaking point, where Desmond had finally resigned himself to agreeing with this plan, no matter how monstrous it may have seemed. If he wanted his mind back to himself and to see the life of another saved, then who was he to say no?

He was willing to bet money that Clay also knew that this would be his decision in the end. He honestly didn't know whether to applaud him for his hindsight or sock him one in the face. He was tempted to do a bit of both when next he spoke with him.

Sighing softly and pushing away from the computer after logging out and shutting it down, Desmond frowned and idly chewed on his bottom lip, running his tongue over the faint outline of his scar as he so often did out of habit. That was another issue… when  _would_ he next speak with Clay? Certainly after everything that had happened tonight he highly doubted that either of them would want to speak to each other any time soon. Hell, he didn't even know if Clay actually  _could_ read his thoughts… but for his sake he hoped that he could. Otherwise the blond would have missed Desmond admitting that he was a fucking genius after all, and he was sure that Clay would get a kick out of that one.

He chuckled drily and stood from his seat. He was still pissed off with the man to say the least, but now that he had had time to himself to cool down, he still saw some merit in the man's logical – if perhaps rather questioningly so – thought pattern. Because if he'd explained outright that he'd been looking through the files of people his father would trust who also happened to be in a convenient situation for him to take advantage of, then Desmond sure as hell wouldn't have agreed to this so quickly. In fact, they would probably still be arguing about this right now. Or trading blows. Or both.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched, groaning faintly in satisfaction as his back popped. He felt the fatigue start to sweep up and claim him, and Desmond wanted nothing more than to finally get some rest. He could think about where to go from here tomorrow morning when he woke up. Hopefully the new day would instil within him some sense of direction as to what to do next.

As he walked out of the living room, checking behind him for a minute to ensure that the computer had been turned off, he almost cried out when he walked right into someone. The feminine gasp followed by a soft hiss of "shit, sorry!" informed him it was Rebecca.

The lights turned on and Desmond found himself blinking away the dots in his vision before slowly focusing his gaze on the raven haired woman in front of him, her hands clasped over her mouth. An awkward silence followed.

"Desmond…? I didn't think you'd be down here, I… I'm so sorry I—"

"It's fine, Rebecca," he waved it off, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. He watched her warily, wondering what would have made her come down here. He hoped she hadn't been watching him hack into her computer. A rising feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

"Everyone's asleep, your father he… wanted your window kept open. He thought you might come back later." She stumbled a little over her words, the woman looking suddenly so out of place and uncomfortable. Desmond found himself taking a short step back, hoping to angle past her and retreat to his room. He didn't like where this was headed.

"Yeah. I noticed."

Rebecca wrung her hands nervously in front of her and her next words prevented him from walking away any further.

"Are… is everything ok? What were you doing down here, I heard movement downstairs and I thought it might have been you but I wanted to come che—"

"Sorry 'bout that. Everything's fine I was just… trying to find something to eat," Desmond quickly explained, hoping that he could somehow worm his way out of this one. At least it didn't seem like Rebecca had caught him… but then again, he didn't know if Rebecca was a good liar or not. He hoped he would never find out the answer to that one.

Rebecca stared at him for a moment, and then her lips twitched into a faint smile. She nodded. Desmond could have let loose another sigh of relief. She seemed to buy it.

"Yeah… ok just as long as… you're ok."

Desmond nodded, managing a faint smile of his own.

"Thanks."

She shrugged it off. As he turned and made for the stairs again he could have sworn he saw her turn her head in the direction of the living room, but before the panic had time to fully spread and make him stop in his tracks she walked into the kitchen instead. He paused for a minute longer from where he was halfway up the stairs, but hearing nothing except the slow boiling of the kettle his grip loosened somewhat on the railing and he trudged further upwards, hoping that it had simply been a trick of the light and that he hadn't been found out after all.

Even so, by the time he finally slipped under the covers in his room moments later he couldn't shake the suspicion. He fell into a dreamless yet uneasy sleep.

* * *

 

By the time he had finally woken up the next morning, Desmond knew that something was wrong. He didn't immediately place what, but he had this feeling that there was something he should have been doing. Slowly he roused himself, his body unusually tense.

He glanced around him, as if making sure he was still in his room. He was. The sun was streaming through the window, and from its height he guessed it was around eleven. He pushed the sheets away from himself and got to his feet, stretching and gathering his clothes from where he had tossed them haphazardly over the chair by the desk.

As he spent the next ten minutes showering and getting ready for the day, he was continuously nagged by that same plaguing feeling. He knew it wasn't from the lack of contact with Clay – after all if the man had wanted to initiate any form of talk with him they wouldn't have parted on such bitter terms the night before. The fact that Desmond didn't even  _care_  about that informed him that he was still pretty pissed off with the blond.

No, it was something else. Something else entirely.

He didn't end up finding out what until he walked downstairs for breakfast. The house was empty save for Rebecca – the technician sitting at the kitchen table, as if waiting for Desmond. He blinked in surprise when he saw her, the surprise quickly fading into a harrowing feeling of suspicion. His stomach knotted just like it had last night, and he wondered if perhaps he hadn't been caught accessing her computer after all.

She didn't look outwardly upset though, rather she had been tapping away at something on her phone and had offered a friendly smile when he had walked in.

"Morning, Desmond."

Desmond nodded, mumbling a faint response. He walked over to the counter to grab himself some coffee, all the while being intensely aware of the eyes trained on his back.

"Where're Shaun and dad?" He didn't like either of them being the topic of morning conversation, but for the sake of saying something to break the awkward silence this would have to do. It was a moment until Rebecca answered him.

"They left at dawn to scope out the farm where that temple is supposedly located…"

Desmond cussed faintly and gripped his coffee mug so tightly his knuckles cracked.

_Shit!_

He'd forgotten all about that. His father  _had_ said yesterday that they were supposed to be headed out there this morning. Desmond's defiance had earned him his bruised cheek after all – the swelling of which had thankfully lessened somewhat. At least now he knew what it was he was forgetting this morning...

It was a moment later until realisation dawned and he span around to stare confusedly at the raven haired woman.

"Wait a sec… why aren't you—"

"I convinced the two of them to head out there and check for themselves whether it's safe or not. I told them you could do with a proper rest. Bill agreed, so long as I promised him I'd watch your sorry ass until they got back." She announced, sipping some of her coffee. Desmond arched an eyebrow.

"Really? Huh." He didn't trust this. Not one bit. "Thanks."

Rebecca waved it off. Desmond turned back around to finish preparing his drink and he leant back against the kitchen counter, sipping the refreshing caffeine slowly.

"Now that that's out of the way you wanna start telling me why you were going through my files last night?"

Desmond promptly spat his coffee out and he choked, fixing startled brown eyes on Rebecca's own. His heart hammered away in his chest with such ferocity he could hear his blood streaming through his ears. Rebecca meanwhile only fixed a calm expression on him, the woman looking for lack of a better word entirely nonplussed by Desmond's guilty reaction. She waited for him to stop choking before leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, an eyebrow arched.

Desmond placed his cup back down and wiped his mouth, and he narrowed his eyes at her.

"You weren't coming downstairs for a late night coffee last night, were you?" He muttered. Rebecca smiled grimly.

"Desmond, there's a reason why I never change my password. I know you go looking through the computers when we're not around. But why were you looking at Mark's file?"

He sighed. That was something he couldn't answer.

"No reason," he mumbled. It was Rebecca's turn to narrow her eyes.

"Is it because of Sixteen?"

That caught Desmond off guard. He almost shattered another mug as his cup nearly fell from his grip, and his mind felt as if it was on the verge of blanking out. He froze completely, unable to move his lips to speak.

His silence apparently confirmed everything Rebecca needed to know, and the woman sighed as she rubbed her eyes with her hands.

"Des… Sixteen is—"

"He's what, Rebecca?!" He snapped, uncaring of how defensive his tone had suddenly become. He was scared, he realised. How the hell did she find out?! Rebecca narrowed her eyes at him.

"Well, dead for starters." She answered evenly. "And I'm not sure if you realised yet, but bringing the dead back to life is frowned on in most societies. And not to mention, it's impossible."

Desmond bit back the growl of anger that was almost ready to rip free from his throat.

"So why'd you do it? Why'd you invite him inside your head when you were in the animus?" She queried further.

"… How do you know about that…?" Desmond's voice wavered, anger quickly being replaced with fear once more. He didn't know what was happening anymore. Only that somehow he'd been found out. But  _how?!_

Rebecca sighed again.

"Shaun's got his head stuck too far up his ass to notice anything that goes on around him that isn't history related, and your father is… well, he's a dick I'll agree with you there. All he wants is results, but he  _does_ care about you Desmond, as strange as that may seem. But he doesn't know you well enough to pick up on anything out of the ordinary. Me on the other hand... I'm the one who built that animus. I spend more time with it than anyone else in this team does, and I know damn well when something's off with the readings. When you invited Sixteen in—"

"It's Clay!" Desmond bit out through gritted teeth. Rebecca faltered momentarily.

"—When you invited  _Clay_ in, the animus picked up the extra surge of data and fed that back to me in your monitor readings. I knew something was up. Shortly after that you woke up and you've been acting strange ever since. You get agitated too easily. You get tired a lot more quickly than you normally do. And not to mention the first night we got here you started talking in your sleep. Considering my room's the closest to yours, imagine my surprise when I heard you acting like you were talking to  _him_. I've kept up my side of the bargain and I haven't told the others about it, but I demand some answers. Why the hell did you do it, Desmond? Do you even know what you've done?!"

"Because… I… you wouldn't understand!" Desmond's voice rose an octave, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. His head was swimming.

"Try me." Rebecca's eyes were challenging.

"Just… I… I can't explain why! It's… complicated." He was pleading now, the words tumbling from his lips before he had any control over them. "Look, I promise I'll tell you everything when I can, but for now I need to find Mark. That's all I can say."

Rebecca's expression changed, and she looked genuinely horrified.

"… No… you can't  _seriously_ be thinking about giving Mark's body over to Sixt—Clay?"

Desmond didn't answer. Rebecca's jaw dropped.

"Desmond…"

Still no answer.

" _Desmond!_ "

"It's none of your concern!" He snapped. Rebecca looked stricken, the woman freezing in her seat. When she fixed her eyes on Desmond the look in them was of one who no longer recognised who they were speaking to.

"But… you  _can't_ … do you k—"

"If it's the only thing that'll help him then I'll do everything I can." Desmond's tone was final, and he gave no indication that he would speak any further. Rebecca bit her lip, conflict clearly written all over her face, and she slowly stood from the table.

"… I hope to god you know what you're doing."

She looked like she was about to add something else, but she shook her head instead and turned her back, head bowed as she raced out of the kitchen. Desmond heard her run up the stairs, and it wasn't until he heard a door shut from up above that he exhaled slowly and gripped his head.

Had he been too harsh with her? He rubbed at his brow.

He may have been. But how the hell did Rebecca  _expect_ him to react when she finally decided to tell him she'd known about this all along? It didn't make things any less terrifying. His stomach was still knotted in fear, inescapable and absolute.

He rubbed at his brow a little harder. His head was starting to hurt.

He still didn't like the idea of going into that hospital, but really what choice did he have?! If Rebecca was going to tell the others that wouldn't stop him. He'd run away from home like he did when he was 16. He could do it again and again. He grunted under his breath.

The headache was becoming unbearable.

As his vision started to swim he knew that something was wrong and he should lie down for a moment. He might have caught something down when he was out by the lake last night – he didn't know. But it was foolish to try and bear it, making his way out to the living room stumbling as he walked.

The last thing he remembered was crashing down onto the plush cushions of the couch and someone calling out to him as he lost his balance and fell into darkness.

* * *

 

"…  _mond…"_

He mumbled incoherently.

" _Des… mond…"_

He stirred, groaning as the sound of words which bore striking resemblance to his name filtered into his ears. Was someone calling him? He tried to move but found he couldn't. He could barely open his eyes.

" _Hey… wake up…"_

He was trying. His eyelids felt heavy and it hurt more blinking them open than it did simply keeping them shut. He gasped, pain darting through his brain and he weakly scrabbled at his eyes to shield them from the blinding light.

He heard cussing and felt something warm steadying him from behind as he lost his balance. Moments later he was able to recognise that something warm as a pair of arms.

" _Come on, pull yourself together!"_

He groaned, trying once again to heed the stranger's words – or was it a stranger? The voice sounded oddly familiar… masculine, for starters – and with great effort he managed to keep an eye open for long enough to focus through the pain at his surroundings. When the blurriness cleared he tried again with the other eye, and through the occasional gripping of his brow and the pants for breath he was finally able to stand the agony for long enough to determine just where he was.

It appeared to be down by a lake somewhere. Water here, a light blue sky above… but there was no grass. Just dirt and rocks. His words slurred from his lips when he attempted to speak.

"Where… 'm I?"

He heard an exasperated sigh from behind him and he managed to turn his head just long enough to piece together the blond hair, blue eyes and pale lips of the person helping steady him, and barely a second later he realised it was Clay.

That meant that he had somehow fallen into his subconscious again. Was it a dream this time? It had to be. After all he sure as hell didn't remember falling asleep out by the lake again. The lake outside didn't even  _look_ like this one.

But the question was why? Why had he been drawn into the recesses of his mind again? And just what the hell had happened back at the safe house to make him experience such great amounts of pain in the first place?

Clay merely rose an eyebrow at him, his expression clearly stating that Desmond should know fully well where he was if he could see him. He didn't relinquish his hold on the younger man though, his arms still carefully wrapped loosely around his chest to keep him up straight.

"Easy… just take it easy…" He muttered under his breath when Desmond made to move. The brunet did so, Clay loosening his grip slightly when Desmond took a step forwards to ascertain that he could indeed move without falling over again. He took one more step, then another, and then he nodded his thanks to the blond as he determined that he could indeed stand without any more help. Clay dropped his arms and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets as he often did, and he merely nodded back.

There was an awkward silence, neither man wanting to look the other in the eye. It would appear that last night still weighed heavily on their minds. Presently it was Desmond who broke the silence, the brunet eager to get this out of the way once and for all.

"Hey, look I'm sorry about what I said before… but… I've thought about it and—"

"Yeah, I know," Clay gave a faint smile. "… Thanks. It means a lot to me."

Desmond waved it off, clearing his throat a little.

"Just be thankful you knew I was going to agree in the end."

At this Clay managed a short laugh.

"Well I  _am_ a fucking genius."

Despite himself Desmond's lips twitched into a faint grin and he looked up at the other man again.

"You uh… heard that then?"

"I'm in your head, Desmond. Kinda hard not to."

He winced at that – he would have to remember that in the future, considering some of his thoughts were unsavoury even to himself. At any rate they were both talking again, so that was some kind of improvement he supposed.

He instead turned his attention to their surroundings.

"What the hell happened to me?"

At this Clay's expression soured greatly and the blond sat himself down on the ground, sighing as he drew one leg up to his chest.

"It's my fault. Believe it or not Rebecca was right when she said things had been a bit off with you since you'd taken me in. The slight mood swings and fatigue are just the tip of the iceberg… but sooner or later all this extra data in your brain is gonna catch up to you and cause you to pass out. Like just now. This is why if we're gonna get me outta here we have to do it quickly, because I can't guarantee how long this is going to go on for… or what the long-term effects will be."

Desmond sighed.

"Wonderful."

Clay cocked his head and studied the younger man for a moment, mild incredulity written in his eyes.

"Not even a backlash at me for that? A cruel retort for me failing to tell you any of this until just now?"

Desmond sat down next to the blond, ignoring his quip for the most part.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed off alright. I just don't have the energy to argue. You're killing my head here."

Clay cleared his throat, suddenly looking rather sheepish.

"Sorry. I'd do something about it if I could."

"Oh I know you would."

There was another lapse of silence, the pair idly glancing around at the lake they were sitting near. It was painfully obvious there was something each wanted to say to the other, but it was put off the longer the silence reigned over their heads. Eventually Clay managed to speak up, something that Desmond was thankful for, seeing as he had been straining for ideas on how to carry on this weak-hearted conversation.

"You tend to dream about lakes a lot…"

Desmond smiled wryly.

"Do I?" He muttered, tilting his head back to glance around them again. "I wouldn't call this dreaming…"

"Call it what you like but that doesn't change what it is, Miles."

Desmond chuckled.

"So do something about it if you're sick of seeing trees and water everywhere. I mean if you're in my head it'd make sense that you have  _some_ kind of control over what goes on in here. I'm willing to bet my so-called short temper as of late didn't exactly have anything to do with me, either…"

Clay frowned and looked at the man sitting next to him.

"I'm pretty sure I said—"

"I know what you said, Clay. But that's not what I was referring to."

Clay fell silent at Desmond's words, and the brunet smiled grimly.

_Bingo._

He watched the blond shift a little uncomfortably, and he did everything he could to avoid Desmond's eyes.

"Every time I rose my voice in defence to you being called Sixteen… the moment I reached out and practically assaulted my own father because he wouldn't let me rest… that wasn't me doing that, was it?"

Clay looked visibly agitated.

"I had good reason to, ok?" He grumbled. Desmond's smile grew near triumphant.

"So what I want to know is why you said outright that you couldn't do anything to me while lodging in the back of my brain. Why you claim you have no control over anything that goes on in my head. Why, Clay? Why did you say that when everything that's happened so far says otherwise? If you can make me wring my own hands around my father's neck then you sure as hell can change the scenery a little."

Clay glared darkly at him, the blond now looking unsettled and uncomfortable. It occurred to Desmond that he should step back a bit and approach with more caution, but at the same time he wanted to know. He wished that Clay would just trust him enough to not lie to his face about everything all the time. Hadn't he risked enough for him as it was already?

"Why can't you be honest with me?" He didn't realise he'd uttered those words aloud until Clay's expression visibly changed and the man ran a hand over his face, taking a deep, slow breath.

"I… I  _have_ been honest with you. For the most part, I… look, I mean it when I said that I couldn't just outright take over you like that. Those times when I… made you do that I don't know what happened, ok? Sure I was pissed off. I still am. Maybe things just sorta… slipped… allowing me to…" He trailed off, clearly unsure as to how to proceed with his thoughts. Desmond watched him carefully, seeing no lie in the man's eyes. He should have felt angered by this he knew, but right now he couldn't bring himself to hate the other man for what he did.

After all… if their roles had been reversed… if it was him inside Clay's head, lingering within his cells and being able to see and hear everything that Clay could… if  _he_ was made aware that he was the topic of conversation, that the person carrying him was being worked into the ground… that his  _friend_ was hurting to such an extent… he would have done the exact same thing.

Because that was just it, wasn't it? To Clay, Desmond was the only friend he had left. Since his death he'd had no one to talk to once he stored himself in the animus. And then Desmond had come along and freed him.

He sighed softly and closed his eyes, laying out on his back.

"It's fine," he found himself murmuring. He felt Clay's gaze upon him. "I don't mind. I mean I  _will_ mind if you end up making my dad hit me again because I practically tried to murder him, but aside from all that…"

"… I can't control it when it happens, Des."

"That's fine."

His tone was resolute. Clay opened his mouth as if to speak again, but he closed it instead. He laid out beside Desmond, his head tilted back to look at the sky. After a short while Desmond spoke up once more, his eyes still closed.

"So… what's it like? Being stuck in my head like this? I mean… can you see what I see?"

It took Clay a moment to respond.

"Yeah… if I choose to. But that's it. Aside from hearing your thoughts, that is. I mean after all I  _am_ wedged inside your head. But mostly… I'm here. In this little room in your subconscious."

"So there's always a lake inside my head?"

Clay laughed drily at that.

"Pretty much."

Desmond's lips twitched up in something reminiscent of a smile.

"Well I  _did_ say you could do something about that… though I'd appreciate it if you didn't put symbols everywhere again. The first time was enough, thanks."

He didn't get a reply. He frowned.

"Clay?"

Still nothing. He opened his eyes and glanced at the other man. Clay was gazing straight up ahead, a vacant expression in his eyes, almost as if he was deep in thought about something. Desmond blinked.

"Clay…"

Clay gave a barely audible grunt as a response, then he eventually turned his head to fix his gaze back on the brunet.

"I was just thinking..."

Desmond arched a brow.

"Obviously."

Clay rolled his eyes, but when he spoke up again Desmond noticed the awkward tone of the man's voice, as if Clay was harbouring on foreign territory by what he was about to say next.

"If we're going to get me out... I may have to 'borrow' something..." He trailed off, not needing to say anything more than that to get Desmond to understand what he meant. The younger man simply stared at him, his eyes slowly widening.

"... Oh no."

"Well how else am I going to be able to shuffle on in inside Mark's head if you don't let me take the wheel for a bit? You said you were ok with this not even five minutes ago," he reminded the brunet sharply. Desmond sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I know that but-"

"But what? Look, it's not a massive procedure. I just need to use your arms, or at the very  _least_  your fingers so I can show you how to transfer me into his brain."

Desmond didn't look too thrilled.

"What's the part you're not telling me?"

Clay considered the question, idly stroking his chin as he looked ahead at the lake.

"Well you'll have to be touching him, obviously. I can't very well shimmy on into someone's head if I haven't got anything physical to attach myself to."

Desmond sighed.

"I knew it."

"Hey, just be thankful you don't have to hook me up to the life support!" Clay retorted, sounding offended to some degree.

Desmond nodded, eliciting a tired chuckle as he turned his own gaze towards the lake ahead. He could feel Clay's expectant gaze on him, the blond clearly wanting him to state his approval. Something would undoubtedly go wrong he knew, but then again... he wasn't going to back out of this now. So he extended his hand, glancing back at the man beside him.

"Deal."

Clay grinned, the relief on his face almost enough to make Desmond smile when he reached out and firmly clasped his hand in a warm handshake. As he locked eyes with the blond, Desmond found his smile softening slightly, a thought popping into his head which he felt he needed to share. So he did.

"Hey, Clay… there's something I need to tell you."

Clay withdrew his hand, giving the man his full attention.

"Everything's gonna be fine. You'll see. I promised you I'd help you out, right? That's what I'm gonna do. Despite everything that happened last night, with the yelling and all that... I mean it. Still do."

Clay gave a half-hearted scoff.

"Where's this coming from?" He asked. Desmond's smile widened ever so faintly.

"No idea. But what I'm trying to say is… you're not alone in this. You never were. You helped me when I needed it most, when I was trying to find answers about the Templars and what they wanted. You've been helping me from the very start, since before Abstergo. Now it's my turn. Simple as that. And if you want to live again, Clay Kaczmarek, then we're going to start by getting you your body back."

Clay was silent for a long while, but Desmond saw a familiar glimmer of hope that was rekindling itself within the crystal blue of his eyes – the same hope that had been there when he first asked Desmond to let him come with him to finally escape from the prison the animus had locked him within.

His pale lips slowly spread into a soft grin, and he turned his head to glance back up at the sky above.

"… Thanks."

Desmond's smile grew, and he laid back down beside the other as he too took to gazing at the clouds overhead.

"You're welcome."

* * *

 

He was roused by someone shaking him on the shoulders. Desmond cussed, grumbling under his breath as he realised he'd fallen asleep sometime after talking to Clay.

He grunted when the shaking became more insistent, and he swatted out with his hand as if to punch whoever it was in the arm.

"Clay… cut it out…"

" _Clay?_ "

Desmond frowned. That voice definitely didn't belong to Clay. He heard something like a hushed whisper and a warmth spread out by his neck as someone leant down to him. When they whispered in his ear he instantly recognised that voice as Rebecca's.

"Desmond… wake up. Your father is here."

Desmond's eyes flew open and he blinked groggily around. Rebecca's expression was grim as she stood back, allowing the brunet to take a moment to regain focus of his surroundings, a twinge of disappointment surging through his chest as the cloud-filled sky was not what he woke up to, but the bland living room of the safe house where he had first collapsed. And then he saw him. His father was standing in front of him, William evidently having been the one to shake him on the shoulders. The look in his eyes was not one Desmond wished to see again. His blue eyes were narrowed and filled with all manner of suspicion.

"D-dad?"

William didn't say anything for a long time, but when he finally did his tone was cold.

"Stop wasting time Desmond and pull your weight around here.  _Get up_."

This time Desmond did as he was told without any argument. He scrambled upright, dusting himself off and hissing between his teeth as the sudden vertigo made his head spin. William turned his back, his expression unreadable as he left for outside. As soon as he had made sure his father was gone, Desmond turned to Rebecca.

"Wha—"

"They got here five minutes ago," Rebecca interjected, as if guessing Desmond's train of thought. She avoided his gaze. "You were out cold on the couch for about half an hour. There was nothing I could do to bring you out of it."

Desmond cussed under his breath.

"Just some friendly advice… if you don't want the others to know about your… predicament… try not to call out his name in your sleep. It's really disturbing. Not to mention kind of, well… weird."

Desmond closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. It was almost as if a pit had opened up underneath him and made to swallow him whole. He didn't need to ask the woman to explain any further to understand the inference behind Rebecca's words – hell he could only  _imagine_ how awkward it must sound to anyone else listening to him mumbling some dead guy's name whenever he was knocked out or asleep.

He would really have to work on that.

 _Make this another thing on my to-do list, Clay – find a way for us to talk_ without  _arousing suspicion._

As he groaned and took a moment to try and calm himself down, he thought he heard something faint and vaguely like the sound of snickering… but he shook it off. Even if it  _was_ Clay laughing at Desmond's expense, it still didn't mean he could strike up a full-blown conversation with him just by thinking at him. Laughing and talking were two completely different things… and the former used less brain power. He grumbled, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and blinking blearily around him. He didn't feel unsteady on his feet anymore, and the pounding headache he had had earlier had thankfully all but faded away.

"Were they able to find out anything?" He asked, hoping to talk about something that wasn't directly related to him. Rebecca was about to answer when Shaun walked into the living room, the historian arching an eyebrow at Desmond's inquiry and looking thoroughly exasperated as he did so.

"Yes we  _did_ as a matter of fact, Desmond. But it would have been better if say,  _you_ were there as well? Considering you're Juno's chosen one to open the bloody thing in the first place—"

"Shaun!"

"What? It's true!" He looked affronted by Rebecca's outburst. He turned back to Desmond, calculating him with cold dislike under his glasses.

"If you  _must_ know, the place is clear. No sign of Abstergo anywhere. But who knows how far they are behind us so if we could actually move ourselves over there by tomorrow – that would be  _great_."

"We're going to the hospital first."

Shaun balked at Desmond's words, the Brit looking entirely flabbergasted.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What's this about a hospital?" William called out as he walked back in. Rebecca closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, picking up one of the boxes by the animus which contained electrical wires and she walked out towards the direction of the front door, no doubt intending to load up the van while trying to avoid this conversation as much as she possibly could. Desmond watched her leave, feeling rather cheated at her lack of support in this matter, but he focused his attention back on the others.

"I need to go to the county hospital before we head out there." He answered. William's eyes narrowed once again.

"Why?" He asked, his expression hard. Desmond stared steadily back at him.

"Because I need to see someone."

"Who?"

"Does it matter?"

William took a step forwards.

"It sure as shit matters, boy! Do you have any  _idea_ what's at stake here? We don't have time to go running off visiting—"

"Mark Landers."

William stopped dead in his tracks, and Desmond could have sworn he saw disbelief kindle within his light blue eyes. Disbelief, followed barely half a second later by renewed anger.

"What did you just say?" He whispered.

Desmond crossed his arms over his chest.

"I need to see Mark Landers."

"Do you even know—"

"He's an assassin, he worked with you, and he can help us."

William exhaled sharply.

"He's also in a  _coma_." He snapped. He threw his hands up as if to add emphasis on just how exasperated he was right now. "I don't know how the  _hell_ you know about him, and I don't care. We won't be going to that hospital! We need to—"

"Juno told me to see him."

William froze for the second time in the space of five minutes, his expression now looking plain shocked instead of enraged. Even Shaun had widened his eyes behind his glasses, the Brit seemingly unable to believe what he had just heard.

"Hang on… did you just say that…  _Juno…_ "

"She did. Right before I collapsed." He didn't know how well they would buy this, but Desmond was running out of time and patience. They needed to get to that hospital, and if lying about Juno was the only way to do it – then so be it. He would suffer the consequences later, once Clay had his body back.

"She said he could help… he knew about the temple…"

He could see William and Shaun pause, the looks in their faces eluding to the fact that they were apparently giving this some thought. Shaun glanced towards Desmond's father.

"Was it ever explained why he went into a coma in the first place, Bill?"

William nodded.

"He was run over in a car accident. Been in intensive care ever since. Hardly the work of Templars." By the looks and sounds of things he clearly didn't believe his son. Desmond could have cussed aloud again at that point.

"That's beside the point. I was told to see him, and that's damn well what I'm gonna do. Any more objections or can I try to pull my weight here and save the world the way the First Civ wants me to?"

William made to open his mouth to retort but a hand on his shoulder from Shaun silenced him. He stared at his son for a long moment, silent accusation in his eyes. Desmond stood his ground, his brown eyes smouldering in a dare for his father to argue with him about this.

Eventually he sighed, stepping back and giving a stiff nod of consent. Desmond would have exhaled sharply in relief, but he resisted the urge to. He turned his back, picking up another of the boxes near the animus, and he began to walk towards the front door.

"Now let's hurry up and go."

He couldn't hide the smile on his lips as he left.


	4. Chapter 4

The ride towards the county hospital was a bumpy one. The gravel littered across the road didn't help things when the van drove over them, and more often than not the occupants of the vehicle would wince every so often when a particularly jarring scrape could be heard on the underside of the tyres.

This prompted Rebecca to cuss sharply at Shaun who was driving, the historian quickly retorting back with equally scathing words of his own. Desmond ignored them, lost in his own thoughts as he sat quietly in the back near the animus with his father.

He wasn't entirely happy about leaving the safe house – after all it was the closest thing he'd had to a proper home since leaving his apartment the day he got kidnapped by Abstergo. A whole month and a half…

It felt like a lifetime.

To detract away from the uncomfortable source of his worry, he instead focused his attention on his plan for getting into the hospital, or lack of a plan anyway. Aside from asking the doctors where Mark's room was, he hadn't put any more thought into what he was about to do. He dearly wished that Clay was here to tell him. He sighed, trying to get as comfortable as he possibly could with his back leaning against the van's wall.

Maybe if he could somehow enter that relaxed state that he had when he was on the lake, he could talk to him again without being asleep or passed out beforehand. Five seconds later, as his eyes were closed and he had tried his best to relax his mind, he was visited by a sudden epiphany.

"I need to get into the animus."

William looked up from where he had been staring at his clasped hands.

"What?"

Rebecca and Shaun had also momentarily diverted their attention to the brunet.

Desmond sat up as well as he could with the van trundling over more gravelly ground, and he lay down on the familiar red leather seat.

"Get me hooked up, I need to go back in there."

"Do you mind telling me  _why_ , son?" William demanded. Desmond stared coolly at him.

"Because I need to see that memory again. I feel like… like I've missed something."

He gave his father a look as if to say that he had no time to debate this – William simply sighing and nodding as he stood up and prepared the IV cord.

"Pull over for a bit, Shaun. We need Rebecca back here."

Shaun did as he was told, swerving the van towards the side of the road and parking it where he found enough space in the dirt to do so. Thankfully no one was driving past them at this time of day – they were all alone on an open highway. Rebecca jumped out of the passenger seat and closed the door behind her, jogging over towards the back of the van and opening that so she could slide in next to William.

She booted up the nearby monitor, her expression unreadable as she adjusted the controls – but Desmond could tell she suspected that this was something to do with Clay. He still didn't exactly know how he felt about her finding out about all of this – but at least she appeared resolved in not telling anyone. That was the last thing he needed right now. He made a mental note to thank her properly once everything was all sorted out. But for now…

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes as the IV plunged into his arm.

Now he had a job to do.

When he opened his eyes again he tried his hardest to not concentrate on the familiar white pixels of the animus loading screen around him. Instead he cupped his hands to his mouth and called out.

"Clay I need to talk to you. You in here?"

He waited a moment, impatiently. He didn't entirely know what had prompted this strange idea to form in his head, but at the same time the more he thought it over the more it made sense. Clay had told him they could only talk when Desmond's mind was relaxed enough to fall into his subconscious... and the animus just so happened to force him to fall into that very same state of mind. Otherwise he would reject all the memories that he would otherwise have had to have accessed. It was a counter-measure to ensure he didn't go crazy; take away the control of his mind and the brain would happily allow itself to be used until it was time for him to be brought out. No immediate repercussions and no tragic mental trauma piled on him all at once.

But, then again, he didn't know how it would work when his brain was shared by two current hosts.

There was only one way to find out.

He called out again, rubbing the back of his neck and digging his heel into the white ground. Then he saw him. A shroud of blue data flickered before his sight and then Clay was there, stepping forth seemingly out of nowhere. To say he looked rather put off by being in the animus again was an understatement. Desmond shared his sentiments wholeheartedly, but he didn't have time to think about that now. He strode forwards, grabbing the blond by the arm and ignoring the surprised cry this earned from the older man.

"Hey wha—"

"Are you able to freeze the monitors Rebecca's got running?" He cut straight to the chase. Clay's expression was confused, his blue eyes startled somewhat by Desmond's sudden show of audacity.

"What? Well yeah bu—"

"Can you do that now? We need to talk in private."

It took a moment for the demand to register, but eventually Clay relaxed, reaching down to remove Desmond's hand from his arm as he did so. He took a step back.

"They're already taken care of. She hasn't got them turned on."

Desmond nodded, feeling a weight seem to lift from his shoulders. That answered that particular question, then. The last thing he wanted was the others to find out what was going on in here. He made another mental note to thank her again when next he had some time to speak to her in private. Clay was studying the brunet carefully, his eyes settled on his face.

"You alright? I mean I can understand you wanting to talk in private but you know I'd prefer it if it didn't involve being inside the animus… no matter if it's the easiest way or not. This place has you on edge. Look at yourself."

Desmond scoffed.

"Yeah, right back at you," he muttered. He turned his attention to Clay, crossing his arms over his chest.

"How am I going to get this shit sorted out with Mark?"

Clay sighed.

"So that's why you wanted to talk to me in here…" He muttered, more to himself than Desmond. He closed his eyes for a minute before straightening up and opening them again, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets.

"Like I told you before I'd have to take the wheel for a bit and physically transfer myself into his brain. I honestly don't know if it's going to affect you in any way, though. I'd be ripping myself from your head when I get out, for one... and I'd also be wrenching away the control of your own body for a brief moment. I can't guarantee anything."

Desmond didn't like the sound of this.

"How am I meant to let you take control of me?"

Clay began to pace, walking back and forth in front of the younger man as he idly scratched at his chin.

"That's a good question. I've been thinking about what I said earlier on... you know, with those times I'd inadvertently stepped up for a minute to defend myself. And you, that one time. I said that something slipped... but it goes beyond you simply relaxing your body and your mind. I think..." He paused then, looking Desmond directly in the eye. "Well I think you're just going to have to let me."

Desmond eyed him warily.

"Can't you be more specific?"

Clay frowned.

"How _more_  specific do you want me to be?!" He exclaimed, sounding thoroughly exasperated. He sighed. "Look... just... find him. Then we'll work things out from there. Let me take the reins and I'll do the rest."

Desmond nodded, sighing as he rubbed his brow. He didn't want to bother thinking about the details, anyway.

"Have a defibrillator on standby too, just in case it goes to hell I'll need a little pick-me-up."

Desmond's eyes were narrowed on the blond when Clay spoke up again, and he resisted the urge to bite back a retort at that comment. He reigned in his frustration and took a deep breath.

"Alright then." He was about to call out to Rebecca when he stopped for a moment, watching Clay closely out the corner of his eye. Something seemed… off… with the man. His muscles were unusually tense and his hands were clearly clenched into fists from where they were still sitting shoved in his jeans pockets. Clay caught him staring and he frowned, straightening up again.

"Something wrong?"

Desmond shook his head.

"No… just… are you feeling alright?"

Clay chuckled somewhat drily.

"Yeah… yeah, I will be. It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Desmond frowned.

"That's not exactly convincing."

Clay rolled his eyes and looked as if he was about to make some kind of retort, but apparently he changed his mind at the last minute. Instead his features softened, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. He looked at the ground, kicking the white surface idly with the heel of his shoe.

"I dunno I… I've found out it's easier to not get your hopes up too much in life, is all. I mean for instance I was stabbed in the back in Abstergo by someone I thought was going to help me – wonderful confidence boost  _that_  was. And then there was the whole thing with my suicide and… I just… don't know."

Desmond took a step towards him.

"You're worried about getting a body back, aren't you?" He pointed out. Clay shot him an annoyed look which softened over almost immediately. He nodded. Sadness kindled within his gaze.

"What if I can't do it? What if I… can't handle it after… after…"

"Hey…" Desmond took another step forward and placed a hand on the man's shoulder, gripping gently yet firmly. He locked eyes with the blond, forcing him to meet his gaze.

"It'll be fine."

Clay smirked bitterly.

"You don't know that."

"No, but I  _do_ know that it's better than you having no life at all." Desmond answered, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his scarred lips. He clapped the other on the shoulder, letting go. Clay stood frozen there, an unreadable expression crossing his face. He made to say something, his mouth opening – but he closed it and sighed. He lifted a hand to his brow and rubbed it, a defeated laugh escaping him.

"You know despite being in your head I still can't understand you, Miles," he murmured. "How the hell can you be so goddamn optimistic all the time?"

"Well not all the time. I just know what it's like to be used by everyone and cast aside. And I also know how important it is to keep fighting. Running away from home taught me that." Desmond replied.

Clay's lips quirked into something reminiscent of a smile.

"You're really something else, you know that?"

Desmond chuckled.

"Considering the fate of the world apparently rests on my shoulders, yeah I'd agree with you."

He grinned, pleased to see that Clay had lightened up somewhat, and he was about to turn around to leave again when another thought struck him. He glanced back at the other man over his shoulder.

"You said something about being betrayed in Abstergo… who was it?"

All previous sign of amusement now drained from Clay's face, and the seriousness within which he now gazed at Desmond was almost enough to momentarily unsettle him. He wondered if he should have asked that question. In fact the longer the silence ensued he was damn near certain he had crossed the line. He was about to apologise when Clay cut across him.

"It's funny who you choose to put your trust in sometimes… isn't it?" He spoke up, an odd edge to his voice. There was no mirth in his eyes despite the cheerful lilt of his tone. "I think that's something else you can agree with me on, Desmond. It's just you against the whole world one moment, and then the next you're convinced you finally know someone on your side. Someone who swore that they were going to help you. There are liars, and then there are those whose lies are so good you have no choice but to believe them until you find out just where you went oh so terribly wrong."

If Desmond was feeling confused before, that was nothing compared to how he was feeling now. He turned to face the other fully, struggling to comprehend Clay's cryptic words.

"What the hell are you talking about?  _Who_ are you talking about?"

Clay gave an empty smile.

"Oh I think you already know." A blue mist seemed to begin to shimmer before him, and Desmond realised that Clay was preparing to leave. He strode forwards, wanting to get an answer before he left.

"Oi, Clay! Wait! I don't know who you're—" And then he stopped in his tracks, his eyes slowly widening. Clay's expression was cold, his voice equally so.

"Don't you?" His look told Desmond that he knew it was clearly the opposite. He sighed, and already his body had all but halfway disappeared, fading as it was into those familiar blue flecks of data.

Desmond had frozen still, his eyes now wavering as did his mouth. He felt recognition flare within his brain, brutal and unforgiving. He felt nauseous.

"Surely you don't mean… Lucy…?"

He didn't get an answer. Clay was already gone. And with his departure Desmond felt his consciousness slip.

When he was pulled out of the animus by an anxious looking Rebecca and an equally worried looking William and Shaun, all Desmond could think of was the stabbing pain in his heart, cold like ice and as tormenting as the memory of a loathsome nightmare.

_Clay…_

"Desmond what happened? We lost sight of you in there. Are you sure you're ok? You look like you've seen a ghost…"

He didn't hear them, though he knew they were talking to him. His mind was elsewhere, wrapped in guilt and despair.

_Clay…_

He lurched forward, groaning as he gripped his head. His brain was swimming.

If Lucy had been the one to betray him… just like she had to Desmond…

He felt a hand on his back and he jerked away, lifting his head and focusing bloodshot eyes on his father. William visibly faltered, but soon his face smoothed over and he straightened up again, looking as stoic as ever.

"Did you find out anything, son?" He asked stiffly.

Desmond's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah. How long is it until we get to the hospital?" His voice sounded strained.

Shaun glanced up from the wheel.

"About another half an hour. Why?"

Desmond closed his eyes again.

"Drive faster."

* * *

He'd never been particularly fond of hospitals. Even as a boy he loathed being dragged out for his next check-up, Desmond disliking the way the doctors would prod and poke and stand over him dressed in their white coats and talking funny words.

Now that he thought back on the memories of his ten year old self, he found that it really wasn't all that different from what he had had to endure whilst in Abstergo. Waking up every morning with Warren Vidic practically breathing over his neck about him needing to hurry up in finding the Piece of Eden bared some basic resemblance to the traumatising memories of being in a hospital ward coming to after the anaesthetics wore off from an operation on his broken leg (an accident while climbing up towards the treehouse his father had built and losing his balance halfway there).

A man standing there in the same white coat, and the same nonsensical jargon gushing forth from his mouth – words that, even though they were in English, Desmond didn't fully understand. As he looked up at the entrance to the county hospital now, imposingly made of glass and slabs of grey concrete, his hands in his jacket pockets and his eyes veiled by his hood that was drawn up, he felt the same unease come flooding back.

"He's in the sixth ward down on the left hand side when you walk in," Rebecca murmured as she strode up beside him, Desmond blinking as he locked his attention on her. He nodded.

"Anything else I should know?"

"Yeah… don't fuck this up. We don't know if any of the hospital staff are Templars. The last thing we need is Abstergo getting a lead on us because you knocked over a dish or something in your hurry to get your ass back out here."

He scoffed.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Rebecca's expression was unreadable, and it didn't take a genius to see that she was still very much opposed to the idea of Desmond going in there. He sighed.

"Rebecca, I—"

"We're not talking about this," she replied abruptly. She turned her back and strode over towards the others, Desmond hearing her mention to the two that she would be waiting in the van. Someone needed to guard the animus after all.

He sighed again, already edging forwards towards the glass doors. Footsteps echoed behind him and he turned his head to see his father.

"Shaun's staying behind with Rebecca," he announced, as if knowing what Desmond was going to say. His strides easily matched with his son's as they entered the facility, the surgical smell of a heavily sterile environment wafting to their noses and making them cough faintly.

"Any reason why you're not waiting with them, then?" Desmond muttered under his breath. Unfortunately for him William heard the comment, and he fixed Desmond with a glare.

"Because I'm the one who inducted Mark into the Brotherhood seventeen years after you were born, and he was one of my most promising students. I want to have a word with him."

"Didn't you say he was in a coma?" Desmond hissed scathingly as he side eyed his father. William grew visibly agitated.

"I did. And I'm assuming the reason Juno sent you here in the first place was to bring him  _out_ of his coma."

Desmond could have groaned. It would appear his father had no intention of leaving him alone for five minutes. He focused his attention ahead, smiling somewhat awkwardly at a nurse who passed them by, the blonde arching an eyebrow at the two men strolling casually through the foyer before shaking her head and disappearing towards the crowded reception desk. The waiting room was full, and sickness was everywhere; unhealthy coughs followed by the sounds of crying and screaming children, older citizens being pushed around in wheelchairs with oxygen tanks attached, the decrepit and the dying… Desmond hated it here.

"Can I help you two gentlemen?" A voice startled him out of his thoughts and he glanced over at the reception desk where a redhead woman had called out to them, her voice light and airy as she smiled. She couldn't have been more than forty, at the very least.

"Yes, we're here to visit Mark Landers," William announced, striding forwards to the receptionist. Desmond stood back, letting his father do all the talking. His fists clenched tightly in his pockets, so much so that he heard his knuckles crack. He tried his best to relax.

Slipping into Mark's room unnoticed was going to be one thing, but making sure he could be alone was another.

"Oh, friends of his? That's wonderful! He doesn't get that many people coming to visit him these days. Here, if you can just sign this form…"

The woman was apparently a talker, and Desmond could see the agitation growing in William's eyes as he picked up the pen handed to him and wrote on the form the redhead had passed over the desk. She kept speaking to him as he did so, and it wasn't until William had politely interrupted her by handing her the form back that she finally shut up for a moment.

"Thank you, we'll see ourselves in."

She blinked.

"With all due respect Mr Forbes, we actually can't authorise visitors to walk into a patient's room without a doctor—"

"We've been here before and unfortunately we're in a hurry, so if you don't mind…?"

The receptionist stared at him. Desmond frowned, watching with renewed interest as his father leant in and whispered something to the woman in hushed tones. Her eyes steadily widened the more his father spoke, and by the time he was finished she had clasped her hands to her face, stifling a horrified gasp. She stared first at his father, then directly at Desmond (for which he was startled to find that her eyes were red with pending tears), and then she looked back at William again, nodding feverishly as she quickly pointed to the corridor they should take.

"Thank you," William smiled sadly, nodding his head to the woman and striding up to grab Desmond by the arm, guiding him along. Desmond started, allowing himself to be pulled along for a moment until he regained his own feet and pushed away from his father, sparing a last glance at the receptionist who was gazing solemnly at his retreating form.

"What did you tell her…?"

William shrugged.

"You had a terminal illness and seeing your childhood friend was your dying wish."

" _What?!_ "

"Keep your voice down!" William hissed as his son's cry caused a few of the doctors and nurses walking along the hallway to glance up curiously in their direction. His grip tightened on Desmond's arm again, almost painfully. He winced.

"I can't believe you!" Desmond growled under his breath. William didn't respond, which left Desmond in even more of a fouler mood than before. He yanked his arm free from his father's grip and made sure to keep five paces ahead of him, not wanting to be anywhere near the man for the moment. His relationship with his father was strained at the best of times, but to use an excuse like  _that_ … that was the fucking icing on the cake. It reminded Desmond why he'd decided to run away from home all those years ago in the first place.

He saw a few more of the hospital staff firing odd glances his way, and he immediately tried as best as he could to relax himself. Breathing in deeply and holding it, he counted to ten before exhaling slowly. By this time they had located the room they were after, Mark's nameplate attached to the door. Desmond approached, clenching his hands again.

_Here goes…_

"Can you wait out here? I need to be alone for this." He didn't offer any more explanation than that. William looked like he was willing to protest, but one glare from his son cut him off. Obviously annoyed, he leered at the younger man, but nevertheless he remained standing where he was, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Be quick about it. If you're not out here in five minutes I'm coming in. We have no time to waste."

Desmond ignored him, removing his left hand from his hoodie pockets and pressing a finger against the button along the side of the closed door. It beeped and then slid aside to let him through, closing automatically behind him as he stepped over the threshold.

He gulped, taking stock as best he could as he trailed his eyes over the white-washed walls, the curtains drawn apart to let the slivers of sunlight in from outside. The room was clean and sparse, with nothing inside but the bathroom and the bed with which monitors were attached, beeping in time with the life support.

He approached the bed cautiously, stepping slowly as if afraid that any sound his feet would make on the linoleum flooring would cause Mark to wake up and ruin the whole operation. He counted to ten in an effort to calm himself down, and as he continued to inch forwards he trailed his gaze over the figure now coming into view, nestled underneath the bed sheets, eyes closed in the appearance of one asleep and his chest rising and falling faintly in time with his breathing.

Desmond froze.

_So this is Mark..._

If one looked closely, they might say that the man could almost pass off as Clay, appearance wise. Almost. His hair was still blond, but more of a honey-blond and not the darker ash-coloured tones he'd been accustomed to seeing. His hair was also about the same length as Clay's - though it was wavy with short tousled strands falling across his forehead. His face bore similar chiselled features – mainly in the chin, but that was where the similarities ended. Overall he appeared younger than the Clay that Desmond knew, which wasn't surprising seeing as Clay had been 30 when he had made his artificial copy and ended his own life. Mark was two years younger and had been 26 when he had first slipped into his coma, and the age gap was evident in his pale features. In fact, if Desmond concentrated hard enough, he could imagine Mark as being at least a relative of Clay's - a brother or a cousin, perhaps? He was still different enough to be able to avoid being confused for him, but at the same time there was a vague sense of familiarity about him that eased the discomfort Desmond was otherwise feeling.

"Man you really knew who to pick, didn't you…" He muttered under his breath, not entirely certain whether Clay could hear him or not, but it still didn't hurt to try. He looked at the life support next to him, frowning as he eyed the many controls and switches.

"Alright... you got me here. Do what you have to do." He took a deep breath, stepping forwards and standing in front of the comatose man. He closed his eyes, and he relaxed his limbs. He didn't exactly know how this would work, but he was trusting Clay to take the reins here like he said he would. Speaking of trust...

He remembered what Clay had said to him in the animus.

_"You're just going to have to let me."_

He didn't know how long he waited there, mind relaxed and limbs loose by his sides. He could feel the pull of his consciousness at his brain, as if part of him was already slipping away into that relaxed state that he was slowly becoming accustomed to the more he tried to communicate with the man. He tried to ensure total lack of control over his body, feeling as if one single twitch of a muscle was enough to break Clay's attempts to tap into his nervous system.

After a few minutes, he felt an odd tingle through his arms. It was warm, and his hands prickled faintly. He didn't know what it was at first, but the more he became aware of it, the more he found that as he opened his eyes - his vision swimming and blurry from having been closed so long - he realised that his hands were moving.

He almost sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a brief stab of panic flood through his chest until he quelled it, not wanting to ruin Clay's concentration. But he couldn't tear his eyes away - seeing his hands slowly raise, his fingers twitching and jerking in odd movements against his control... it was an unsettling, foreign,  _morbid_ sensation, and it was all he could do to bite his lip to stay quiet when they'd reached out and placed themselves firmly over Mark's chest, directly on top of a cord that was taped over his heart. He both felt and didn't feel Mark's cool skin under his fingers - the best way he could describe it was as if he was in the back seat of a car. The driver had full control over the vehicle, whilst the passenger only felt the road under the tyres and saw the gears being shifted and the wheel turned.

He realised he wasn't blinking, afraid that he would miss anything if he did.

Then something happened. It was faint at first, but still visible enough to catch his attention. It looked like a blue light was pulsing faintly by the tips of his fingers pressed against Mark's chest - similar to how his body had been engulfed in the same light when Clay had bound himself to him back on the island. Data, he realised. Clay was morphing his body into streams of data, filtering his way into the unconscious man via the wires strapped to his chest. Desmond bit his lip and he exhaled sharply.

He heard a faint increase in the beeping from the monitors and the blue light gradually faded, Desmond groaning as he stumbled backwards, the air sapped out of his lungs as the control of his limbs was returned to him. He gripped his head, his hands feeling like they were on fire. He clenched his teeth, groaning lowly and trying to keep a hold of himself, panting as he fought the urge to sit down. It was as if a weight had been removed from his head, his brain feeling oddly light. And just as quickly as it had come, the tingling sensation in his hands stopped.

He was left standing there like nothing had happened at all.

He blinked, lifting his hands and flexing them experimentally, his eyes wide as he glanced back at the comatose man before him. He eyed him wearily. Time passed, but nothing else happened.

He waited a little longer, oblivious to the fact that it had been well over five minutes and his father would no doubt come rushing in at any moment to demand what was taking so long. But he couldn't afford to worry about that right now. His eyes were trained on the blond man, hoping,  _praying_ for some sign that he would wake up. The monitor continued its same rhythmic beeping, but nothing changed. The readings were still the same.

_Come on Clay… what's taking you so long?_

He was growing anxious, and he was beginning to think he'd done something wrong when he saw it – the faint jerk of an arm. He paused, his heart beating rapidly inside his chest and his palms coated with sweat.

He blinked, leaning in a little closer to make sure that his eyes weren't deceiving him.

He audibly gasped when he saw it again, there, the weak twitch of the man's thumb. It was ever so slight, and he easily would have missed it if he wasn't paying so much attention. But it was there. He was moving. He felt his heart leap into his throat and he gripped the mattress with both hands, barely unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Clay…?" He called out quietly, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "Clay, is that you in there? Can you hear me?"

He heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. He cussed, glancing quickly behind him and then returning to gaze back at Mark's face.

"Clay!" He hissed. "Come on!"

The door opened, and William barged through.

"What the hell is taking so long in here!" He snarled, striding quickly towards Desmond. Desmond barely paid his father any mind, his heart leaping up into his throat. He had seen it again – it was more pronounced now, the man's left thumb now twitching and curling inwards towards his closed palm.

"Why isn't he waking up yet?!"

William stopped when he drew up beside his son, glancing down at the comatose man. His eyes were drawn to the hand which was now clenching slowly by his side. His eyes widened.

"How did you manage to—"

Desmond wasn't listening, his attention fully focused on the man in front of him. He had a smile on his lips, relief evident in his face as he exhaled sharply. He silently urged Clay on, being sure to not touch the man to rouse him awake lest it would set off the monitors and the doctors would come rushing in. Already the heart monitor had increased its crescendo.

But, just as quickly as it had come, it had stopped. Mark's hand went limp once more, and he appeared to fall back into his comatose state. The monitor fell back into its familiar lull, eventually slowing down so much that it had appeared to have shut off. And then it flat lined. Desmond's smile slowly faded, and dread crept up within his chest, clawing its way through to his brain.

_No…_

Something had clearly gone wrong.

He cried out when William gripped his shoulder and pushed him aside.

"What the hell did you do, boy?!" He snarled, looking both angered and stricken with horror as the monitor's shrill cry echoed in their ears, so loudly that they had to cover them with their hands.

"I… I don't know!" Desmond yelled back over the noise. He  _didn't_ know. He couldn't think. What the hell had happened?! Why hadn't Clay made it? He was panicking, he realised. Nothing registered in his mind.

_Clay… come on, don't do this! You can't do this! Not now!_

Outside, doctors were already rushing towards the open doorway.

"What's going on in—SHIT, YOU TWO GET OUT, RIGHT NOW!"

Desmond was stricken, unable to move. He felt hands roughly pull at his arm to guide him back but he lashed out, not caring who it was that had tried to grab a hold of him. He heard angry yelling which might have belonged to his father, and he saw a swirl of white and green as doctors and nurses piled in, their voices raised in a maddening cacophony as they tried to assess the situation.

A defibrillator was brought in.

His eyes were swimming.

_This… this isn't happening. He's not… he can't be…_

He felt angry.

_Clay, you better wake up, you hear me? I did_ NOT  _risk my life getting you out of the animus just so you could give up on me now! You still owe me!_

He wanted to scream.

_YOU HEAR ME?!_

Someone was dragging him back. He span around and punched them cleanly in the gut. William grunted in pain, doubling over as he gripped his stomach. Desmond's eyes were blazing. He ran back to the group of doctors, throwing them out of the way as he tried to get a view of the man lying on the bed, still unconscious, still unresponsive.

Panic was eating away at his head. It was like the bleeding effect all over again; his vision tormented by unfamiliar and unwanted visions. The doctors demanded he step back, but he refused. They threatened to drag him out themselves, but he still wouldn't listen. He reached out and grabbed Mark's hand, snarling as he drew himself down long enough to hiss venomously by the blond's ear.

"Clay Kaczmarek, you fucking listen to me and  _wake up, right now!_ "

Blue eyes snapped open, and the hand he was holding clenched tightly around his own.

The monitors buzzed to life, and the doctors all but fell back, shocked cries escaping them. The room went deathly silent, save for the machines which were filling the silence with their steady beeping.

And through it all, Desmond was vaguely aware that all he could focus on amidst all the confusion was those familiar crystal blue eyes gazing directly at him – the blond gasping feverishly for breath, his chest heaving violently.

Too many emotions were playing over his face – like he was having trouble comprehending his surroundings. His grip was painful on Desmond's hand, but Desmond paid it no mind. Instead he placed his free hand over the man's own, giving him something to focus his attention on, to bring him out of his shock.

Then something happened. The blond's eyes relaxed, and recognition softened those pale blue eyes. His grip grew lax, and his gasping lessened.

His dry lips twitched into the faintest show of a grin, the facial muscles sluggish in their sudden use after two whole years. And when he spoke, though his voice was raspy and dry and slightly deeper than the voice that Desmond had been used to hearing, it was undoubtedly Clay's words that escaped Mark's lips, Clay's inflection and Clay's speech.

It  _was_ Clay.

"Shut the fuck up, Miles… I can hear you."


	5. Chapter 5

The next half hour was a blur.

Desmond had only had enough time to spare Clay one final glance before he was pulled away by his father, William shoving his son out the door so the doctors could tend to him. William was livid, yelling at Desmond for his actions (and not to mention the punch to the gut), but Desmond wasn't paying any attention.

He was too relieved to concentrate on anything else.

He sank down onto the floor outside Mark's room, hearing the chorus of voices from inside. His brain was hurting from all the strain that had been put on him in those horrifying moments when he thought that Clay had been unable to wake up, but now that he'd seen him for himself… now that Clay  _had_ in fact woken up and had spoken to him… well, that was all that mattered now, wasn't it?

He'd done his part, and it was up to Clay to do the rest as he was tended to by the doctors. He exhaled slowly and buried his head in his hands. His heart rate still hadn't returned back to normal after all that excitement.

"Just what in  _GOD'S NAME_ possessed you to do that?!"

Desmond grunted. What was his father going on about? He'd been yelling something or other for the past fifteen minutes.

"I'm asking you a question, Desmond. Do you think I find it amusing that you would just lay your hands on me like that? I'm your  _father_!"

Oh. He was still angry about that, was he? Desmond slowly lifted his head, fixing tired brown eyes on his father's pale blue ones.

"I wasn't finished yet. Couldn't you have waited another five minutes?" He asked. William's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

"You listen here, you little  _shit_ —" He wasn't able to get out any more than that as at that moment the door opened, one of the doctors approaching them. Desmond immediately got to his feet, all retorts he had for his father being forgotten instantly as the grey haired man walked up to them. The remaining doctors and nurses filed one by one out of the ward, parting smiles and reassuring glances as they left and headed off down the hall.

"You're both family friends of his, yes?" The doctor standing before them asked, looking at William and Desmond. Desmond nodded.

"Is he ok?" He asked, somewhat anxiously. The doctor smiled.

"Yes he is. He's still a bit unsure about things but that's to be expected. Vital signs are perfectly stable and it's as if he'd never been in a coma… I'm not sure what happened to make him wake up all of a sudden, but it's incredible. I've never seen such a swift recovery before."

Desmond was unable to hold back the grin which crossed his lips. William stepped forward.

"Are we able to see him?" He asked. The doctor looked at him.

"Funnily enough that's why I came out here. He's asking to see one of you right now. I'm afraid to inform you however that we can't necessarily let him go yet as we'll need to conduct further tests to ensure he's fit enough to check out of the hospital, but if all goes well we can have him out by the end of the afternoon." He smiled again, looking directly at Desmond. "If you'd care to go in, he's waiting for you."

Desmond ignored his father's burning gaze on the back of his head.

"He asked to see me?" He blinked, feeling mildly stunned at first - but his smile only grew wider when the doctor simply nodded and stepped aside to let him pass, his expression warm.

"I can only give you five minutes alone I'm afraid."

Desmond was fine with that. Five minutes would be all he'd need. He walked towards the door, opening it and then closing it behind him as he re-entered the ward, leaving his father in quiet conversation with the doctor outside. He then turned around, glancing towards the bed where a lone man was sitting upright, hands outstretched as he studied his fingers, moving them experimentally. Desmond smiled, digging his hands into his hoodie pockets as he approached.

"I'm not gonna lie, you gave me quite a shock back there."

Clay lifted his head at Desmond's approach, and the smile on his lips was probably one of the most genuine smiles that Desmond had seen in the past few months. He found himself grinning back, studying the man's features carefully. Though it wasn't Clay's face nor his body, there was something about him which was still undoubtedly, uniquely him. He felt that maybe it could have been the eyes. Or it might have been the way his expressions formed, the blond looking down at his hands and studying them once more with that same intensity in his gaze that Desmond had quickly become accustomed to seeing in the man's eyes whenever he'd spoken to him in the animus or in his head.

Either way, he'd made it.

"Gave me a shock myself, if I'm perfectly honest," Clay spoke up, his tone jovial. It was still slightly unusual to hear Clay's words pass from Mark's lips and spoken in Mark's voice, but then again... it was still uniquely Clay. "Didn't mean to cut out on you like that… it was difficult trying to slip myself in. Probably because I haven't exactly worked with someone who's completely brain dead before." He shrugged. His eyes were kindling with a familiar joy, the same kind of which he had shown when Desmond had first saved him from the island.

"It's… incredible… I can feel my hands again…" He wiggled them for emphasis. Desmond chuckled, and then he sighed as he glanced back at the door.

"The doc says he's gonna have to keep you here for a bit longer so they can run final tests on you."

Clay made a face, lifting his eyes to lock them onto Desmond's.

"Fuck that. I'm leaving right now," he snorted. Desmond arched an eyebrow.

"How, exactly?"

Clay gave a roguish grin in reply and swung himself around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, already lifting a hand to rip the IV cords from his arms.

"By walking, for starters."

Desmond made no response, though he did check behind him anxiously to see if the sharp cut to the beeping of the machine had alerted the doctor outside. So far so good. He turned back, moving forwards and reaching his hands out to help steady the older man when he wobbled on his feet for a moment. Clay gripped the wall, grunting a little with the exertion and waving off Desmond's help.

"I'm good… just… gimme a sec…"

His legs were shaking, and Desmond narrowed his eyes in growing concern. But nevertheless he respected the blond's wishes and he took a step back, allowing Clay to get used to the feeling of having a body again. He couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in the man's head, and quite frankly for the most part he didn't  _want_  to know, but if there was one thing he could be absolutely certain of – the excitement in the man's bright blue eyes was worth it. He felt satisfaction course through him, something he wouldn't have expected to feel back when he had first met Clay on the island and when he had later had this plan proposed to him in the first place.

It was funny how things changed.

Clay was alive again. He'd been given his second chance.

"Ok… think I've got it…  _there_  we go…" He exhaled sharply, grinning as he looked up and took a few tentative steps forwards. Seeming satisfied with the lack of shaking on his leg's part, he took to striding back and forth in front of the younger man. With each step he was noticeably gaining confidence, and it wasn't long until he had no difficulties. As he watched him Desmond noted that Mark's body was taller than his own by a few centimetres, whereas Clay's body that Desmond had come to be familiar with was his height, if not slightly shorter. Mark's body was leaner, too, and looked somewhat frail – but that was obviously due to how long he'd been asleep. Desmond had no doubts that his body would regain a lot of its former strength once Clay began to put it to proper use.

"Holy shit…" Desmond caught him mumbling under his breath. He cocked his head to the side and smiled.

"What?"

Clay laughed, looking back up at the younger man with an expression which could almost have rivalled a child's on Christmas Day.

"Just… holy shit! I'm… well…  _look at me!_ "

Desmond's smile grew wider on his lips. This was probably the first time Clay had felt any form of happiness since he'd been held by Abstergo. The very thought was heartbreaking. But now… now that was behind them, for the most part. All they had to be careful about in the meantime was ensuring that Abstergo didn't catch up.

Desmond was about to open his mouth to form a reply when he froze, Clay's gaze softening again, as did his grin. He took a step forwards, and before Desmond had any time to cry out the blond's arms were around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. This time though, as soon as he regained his senses, Desmond didn't stand there in shock. He found himself hugging him back. He chuckled, patting the older man on the back of the shoulder and nodding to him when Clay stood back a moment later, his expression filled with so much excitement that it was almost like he'd gained a completely different persona on top of a new body.

"Where do I even start?"

Desmond waved it off.

"You don't have to."

Clay looked like he was about to say something else, but the door opened – alerting both men's attention towards the front of the room. They visibly tensed, immediately thinking it would be the doctor coming in, and their fears were realised when they saw they were indeed correct. William was following behind the man, arms crossed over his chest as he stood back, his gaze centred solely on Clay as if studying him. The doctor however had to take a minute to compose himself, the man seeming like he was about to go into shock at seeing Clay standing. He rushed over, urging him to get back in bed.

"You may be feeling alright Mr Landers, but we  _really_  can't let you go walking around right now—"

"Aw c'mon doc, I'm fine," Clay sighed, making a face in Desmond's direction and causing the brunet to arch an eyebrow as he watched the blond get hustled back under the covers. "Honest!"

"That may be so, but we just need a few more blood tests and—"

"If you keep taking any more blood from me I'll have none left to give."

"That's not going to happen, don't worry."

Clay looked disgruntled as he screwed his nose up, casting a pleading expression at the doctor when he made to reattach the IV cords.

"You sure about that?" For all his complaining though it was clear that Clay was enjoying himself for the most part, the doctor even chuckling lowly under his breath as he stood back.

"I'll even let your friends stay here with you while we get those last tests done, how about that?"

"Great, thanks doc." He fired a grin in Desmond's direction again, Desmond answering with a faint snort of amusement. He stepped back, allowing the doctor to continue with his work and taking a moment to watch the blond again. As he did so he idly lifted a hand and rubbed at his head, frowning slightly as that same light-headedness from earlier came back. He thought it reasonable to assume that this was some kind of side-effect of Clay leaving his body - and now that he thought about it further, the more he felt his brain start to swim like someone had come and dunked his entire head in a bucket of water. He groaned lightly, closing his eyes for a minute as he took a deep breath and held it in. He tried to focus on the air entering and leaving his lungs.

_Inhale, then exhale... inhale..._

He felt eyes on him and he didn't need to look up to know that Clay was watching him. They would have plenty of time to talk about this later, but right now... they needed to leave.

"How much longer do you think this is going to take?" William asked as he strode forwards, Desmond opening his eyes now to glance at the man warily from under his hands. The doctor turned to face him.

"Not too much longer. Ideally I'd prefer it if he'd stay here for the night, but then again I can't ignore how healthy his signs are."

"We'd really appreciate it if—"

"I know you're eager to see him back home tonight Mr Forbes, but it would be against my authority to—"

"Hey, doc," Clay interjected, lifting his hand and waving it to grab the old man's attention. He was grinning lightly at him. "I'm right here you know. I'm feeling one hundred per cent so I don't see why I can't leave right now. If there's nothing wrong with me then there's no point in trying to run tests on me until you  _do_ find something because no offence you're going to be here for a while." He arched a brow, as if knowing that he'd talked the doctor into a corner he couldn't escape from. The man had frozen, glancing first from Clay, to William, and then to Desmond before eventually settling his gaze back on Clay again.

He sighed.

"I'll see about having your clothes returned to you and I'll get the receptionist to work on the release forms."

Clay's smile was satisfied as he nodded, William also looking rather relieved by this as the doctor stepped back, parting from the room with a faint smile spared in the direction of those present. Desmond felt stunned - he honestly wasn't expecting that to work in the slightest. Seeing that they now had a few moments of privacy, William then took the opportunity to approach the blond.

Desmond could see Clay's eyes narrowing ever so slightly the closer William approached, and he quickly cast a sidewards glance to the other, hoping that he wouldn't do anything stupid to give himself away. It was difficult enough being faced with your former mentor as it is, let alone facing him in the body of another of his old students.

Clay returned the cautious glance, but the quirk of his lips into a faint grin told Desmond all he'd needed to know. He had no plans on getting caught anytime soon.

"Mark…" William announced, his voice somewhat dry. He reached forward and clasped Clay's hand tightly within his own, shaking it. Clay blinked in surprise but quickly composed himself and shook back, letting his expression slip naturally into one of first uncertainty, then recognition.

"Bill… long time, no see."

Desmond arched an eyebrow. It was somewhat… unsettling… to see the ease with which Clay could master his expressions and the tone of his voice. If he didn't know that Mark's body was being inhabited by someone else he would have been convinced that this really  _was_ Mark talking with his father, and he didn't even know the guy.

"How are you doing?"

Clay paused for a moment, apparently searching for an appropriate answer.

"A bit shaken up but I'll be alright. Thanks."

William nodded, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Fantastic to hear. How are you on your feet?"

"Steady as I'll ever be."

William nodded again.

"Good. While the doctor's working on getting you released I surely don't have to tell you that the reason we're here is very important. I'd love to let you rest but this is an emergency and we need your help."

Clay pretended to look surprised, and Desmond arched his eyebrow again. The man really was a good actor.

"Really…? What's wrong?"

William sighed.

"It's not safe to talk about it here," he muttered under his breath. Clay gave a brusque nod.

"Well when the doc comes back give me a couple of minutes to get into some proper clothes then lead the way," He announced. William seemed to agree with that, and he stepped back as the doctor re-entered the ward, clothes in hand.

"Andrea's waiting out the front there for a signature from either of you two gentlemen," he announced, placing the clothes neatly on the end of the bed. William was already walking towards the hallway.

"Fantastic, thank you doctor." Then he was gone. Desmond cleared his throat lightly, nodding to the doctor and casting a quick smile in Clay's direction as he pushed away from the wall he'd been leaning against.

"I'm just going to wait out here until you're all done."

The doctor lifted his head then, nodding his understanding. Clay on the other hand was already waving Desmond off, much to the brunet's continued amusement. He grinned, slipping back out into the corridor and sighing as he crossed his arms over his chest, glancing around the hallway and scanning his eyes over one of the bulletin boards lining the opposite wall as he waited.

 _PhD for Medical Science... new wards opening next year... missing cat..._ he sighed, stifling a yawn and looking away from the notices people had pinned up. As he made to watch the nurses and staff walk by, he realised then that Rebecca and Shaun would still be waiting for all of them. He looked down at his watch. They'd been here for well over an hour and a half already.

He hoped that his father had rung them up when he went out to reception - otherwise they'd never hear the end of it from Shaun.

The door opened and the doctor walked out, offering another smile in Desmond's direction. He thanked him for coming by and for staying with Mark, and when he walked off Desmond took that as his cue to head back on in. He did so, closing the door behind him, and his gaze fell on Clay who was finishing typing up his shoe laces.

"Were these the clothes that Mark was wearing when they brought him in?" He asked, looking at the faded blue jeans and black sweater the man was wearing. Clay grunted something in the affirmative and stood up, dusting himself off and looking down at his attire.

"Well, not  _exactly_ , per se," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and looking back at Desmond. "The originals were ruined in the car crash so they had to buy some more."

"Huh."

Clay crossed his arms over his chest then, falling silent as he gazed expectantly at the younger man. Desmond caught this, blinking and frowning lightly as he stared back.

"What?"

"How are you feeling, Desmond?" His tone was blunt, concise and straight to the point. Desmond felt momentarily confused.

"About what?"

Clay gave him a look as if to say that if he didn't know what he was referring to, then he was a complete idiot. Seeing that he was still getting nowhere, he rolled his eyes.

"Is your head really that empty?"

Desmond blinked again, and then the meaning behind Clay's words finally hit him.

"Uh... no. I mean... I don't know. I feel like my brain's being dunked continuously under water but other than that I'm ok I guess."

Clay looked amused despite himself.

"Really? And that's it so far? Doesn't hurt or anything? You don't feel like you're about to collapse and die on me?"

"No, why? Should I be?" Desmond failed to see where this was going. He felt light-headed, yes, but certainly not to the extent that Clay was describing. Clay chuckled quietly to himself, but the smile that formed on his lips a moment later was a smile of relief.

"Well, I don't know. First time I've ripped myself from someone's head, that's all. I didn't know what to expect but you were looking really uncomfortable earlier on." His smile turned bitter then, and he sighed as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hey, you see me complaining? You're finally out of my head. Best news I've heard all year," Desmond answered, unable to resist. Clay's smile morphed quickly into a smirk at that, and he crossed his arms back over his chest. He was about to reply when the door opened again and William came through.

"Good, you're all set in here," he announced, motioning for the pair to follow him. "We need to head out now." He then turned around and disappeared back out into the corridor again without even pausing to make sure they were following. As soon as the older assassin was out of earshot Clay grinned again, looking down at the younger man quite smugly as they made to follow.

"So, be honest with me. Mark wakes up for the first time in two years and I have to know... how'd I do?"

Desmond scoffed.

"Brilliant. Don't let it get to your head though."

"No promises there, Des," Clay cheerfully replied, striding towards the door. Desmond sighed. William was waiting for them outside, glancing down the hallway.

"Hurry up, we have places to be." And then he was off again. As the pair drew into a light walk behind William, Desmond could see Clay staring determinedly ahead, the blond apparently just as eager to be out of this place as the rest of them were. His gait was still unsteady at the best of times, but it was clear to see that he was slowly getting used to the feel of having functioning limbs again.

The reception was packed with doctors, nurses and patients alike when they walked back through, some of them waving at Clay (or Mark, to be more precise) and wishing him luck and their delight that he'd made such a swift recovery, and as they exited into the parking lot, the sun beaming down upon them as rays poked through the cloud cover, Clay spoke up again.

"So I'm guessing you pulled a few strings and managed to get me out of there with nothing but a form signed with a forged signature, am I right Bill?"

William chuckled, glancing at the blond.

"I can be persuasive when I want to be." He turned back around then, the van coming into view from where it was parked a few ways ahead - Shaun visible through the windscreen. Desmond was amused to see him suddenly straighten himself up after having apparently been lounging around over the wheel, arms folded and head tucked into the crook of his arm. William motioned with his hand for Shaun to start the engine, and soon the van growled to life as the historian nodded through the front window and gestured for the three to enter via the back which Rebecca had already opened for them. She stood there, waiting somewhat impatiently.

William nodded his thanks to her as they approached, barely sparing a glance to make sure Clay and Desmond were still behind him before disappearing inside, Desmond following suit as he clambered up into the back seat. Clay was next, but before he sat down Desmond didn't fail to notice the look on Rebecca's face. For a minute, warning sirens coursed through his body, and Desmond was set to rise from his seat again.

Clay on the other hand simply paused for the briefest of seconds, knowing all too well Rebecca's distrust of him. He smirked, throwing a mocking wave in her direction before hoisting himself lithely into the van, settling down next to Desmond and sighing as he slumped back leisurely in his seat. As he sat there, Desmond continued to watch Rebecca, his knuckles gripping the seat so tightly they were turning white against his skin.

The woman looked stricken, her eyes wide with horror as she gazed at the blond sitting beside Desmond. It was the look of someone whose worst nightmares had just been realised – and a cold hatred simmered slowly within the depths of her accusing stare. She finally managed to rip her gaze away to glare angrily at Desmond, the look on her face clearly telling him that this was far from over. He sighed, facing the black walls as she slammed the door shut and climbed back into the passenger seat a moment later.

"Nice one…" Desmond muttered under his breath. Clay looked nonplussed, shrugging nonchalantly before tilting his head back to glance around him.

"She'll come around."

Desmond sighed again.

"I hope you're right."

He was answered with a reassuring smile, though it did little to help ease his anxiety over the situation. Instead he looked down at his hands, wringing them together as the van's tyres crunched over gravel and Shaun drove them out of the hospital car park.

"Now then… finally we can talk."

Clay stopped his inspection of the van and focused his attention on William, who was seated near the animus. Desmond noted that the blond's blue eyes glanced over it completely as though avoiding its presence altogether, and he couldn't blame him.

"I'm not entirely sure how Desmond managed to wake you up from that coma, but I'm glad he did. Things have changed since you were with us last, Mark… and not entirely for the better, either."

Clay arched an eyebrow, crossing a leg loosely over the other as he regarded the grey haired man in front of him.

"So I gathered. I can tell you the last thing I expected before falling unconscious for so long was being ushered out of hospital by my former mentor and his son. You better start explaining, Bill. What the hell is going on here?" He apparently had Mark's impatience down to a tee, as William smiled grimly as if expecting this reaction from the man before him.

"Abstergo, for one thing. The First Civilisation as another."

Clay's blue eyes were hard.

"Abstergo isn't anything new. The First Civilisation though…  _that's_ something I haven't heard of."

Desmond was about to question that (Clay knew more about the First Civilisation than he did, after all), but he remembered at the last second that perhaps Mark hadn't been told about them before he'd had his accident. So he remained quiet, letting the two speak. William grunted in reply, sighing as he leant back against the seat.

"Haven't heard of? Trust me you'll be getting the whole lot of it any second now and you'd wish you were still in that coma," came Shaun's input from the front. William fixed him an exasperated glare, the Brit shying away almost immediately from the look and refocusing his attention on the road. Desmond swallowed thickly, and he caught Clay offering him another faint yet reassuring smile beside him.

"They're also known as Those Who Came Before. They were the original inhabitants of Earth long before humans, and if my understanding is correct they're the ones who created us in the first place. Moulded us after their own image. They're also the ones who made the Pieces of Eden."

Clay smiled grimly.

"Ah, now those I  _have_  heard of."

William nodded. His eyes were trained intently on the man's face, blue eyes staring into blue.

"Do you remember the Animus Project at Abstergo? The one I was telling you about before your… well, accident?"

It was at that point that Desmond interrupted.

"Dad, I—"

"Be quiet, son."

Desmond was about to retort angrily when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned, glancing uncertainly at Clay's face. He could see the strain in the man's eyes, the way his jaw was clenched as he swallowed. Even his grip was trembling slightly from where his hand was clasped over Desmond's wrist, but still he silently communicated to the younger man that he should remain quiet. Desmond narrowed his eyes, not understanding why. This was clearly affecting him – and Desmond would be damned if he let Clay endure more than he had to.

"… I remember," Clay answered, managing to keep the strain out of his voice, masking it under a neutral tone.

William had thankfully not seemed to notice the tension rising in the atmosphere around them. He sighed, reaching up a hand to stroke his fingers idly through his beard.

"We sent in a young man like yourself into Abstergo to try and give us data on the program that they were running. He offered himself up as a test subject – Subject 16 they called him. Clay Kaczmarek was a promising lead to finding out just what the Templars were really after, but it wasn't until Desmond was kidnapped by them shortly after Clay offed himself that we could find out for certain. They wanted the Apple. To control humankind. They were planning on using the genetic memories obtained from Desmond's ancestors to locate the Apple and send it up in a satellite."

Desmond closed his eyes, willing himself to take deep breaths to calm the anxiety pulsing away inside his chest. The look in Clay's eyes when he had been mentioned, when William had spoken so nonchalantly about him and his death… William wouldn't have seen it, but Desmond did. Most likely because he was well accustomed to the man's moods and subtle expressions.

In his eyes had been pain. Pain that had soon been glossed over in the need to maintain control of his emotions so William would not suspect anything. But his grip shook on Desmond's arm.

"… And now? What does this all have to do with Desmond? Or Clay, for that matter," Clay continued, his voice quiet. William glanced at him.

"Well for starters Those Who Came Before want Desmond to be the one to save us all from the end of the world, believe it or not. December 21st, 2012. That's less than two months away from now. According to them, the Earth will be burned to a crisp by an oncoming solar flare unless Desmond can do something about it. It goes beyond the assassins and the Templars... our age-old struggle is  _nothing_  compared to what will happen to us all if we don't address the real issue at hand here. The boy's been getting messages, visions handed down to him from his ancestors by this precursor race. There's a temple here that we've located, and it's what we know to be the place that they've been meaning for us to find." He paused, taking a deep breath and sighing.

"As for Clay, well, he played his part. He died trying to give that same message to Desmond. Kid went crazy, too. Abstergo kept him in that animus for far too long. I thought Lucy was going to get him out of there but… well. These things happen."

Desmond interrupted again, this time unable to keep the urgency out of his voice.

"Dad, I think that's enough."

He ignored the sharp eyes settled on him, William clearly making ready to snap at him for interrupting yet again, when Clay cut in.

"And I take it, Desmond, you were told to wake me up by one of these… people who came before… yes?"

Desmond spared his father a last scathing glance before nodding, not bothering to look at the man beside him. Clay sat back further in his seat.

"I see."

"Do you have any information we can use? Related to Abstergo or, hell, how to even get inside this temple we're trying to find?"

Clay removed his hand from Desmond's wrist which he'd only just realised had still been held within the blond's grasp. He blinked, lifting his head and watching the older man out the corner of his eye. Clay appeared to be thinking this over – thankfully all trace of his earlier discomfort had seemingly disappeared for the time being.

"Abstergo, no. They weren't up to anything particularly outstanding when last I heard from them before my accident. As for this… temple? You're trying to find? I may be able to help you but I think you'd be better off consulting a Piece of Eden first. If you have one, that is."

At that, William's bearded lips twitched into a wan smile.

"That is something we  _do_ currently have." He motioned to the black satchel that Desmond would often wear outside on field missions, the bag currently lying on top of the animus. A spherical outline could be seen housed within the zipped up leather folds. Clay's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head in observation of it as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Then you have your answer," he finished simply.

William's lips drew into a thin line.

"So it would seem."

A silence settled over the trio, Shaun and Rebecca also having not uttered a word up front since this conversation had taken place. It was clear they had been hanging onto every word spoken though. Desmond cast another quick glance over to Clay, and he saw the blond evidently deep in thought, his eyes still trained on the satchel still seated over the animus.

"Desmond, how  _were_ you able to bring Mark out of his coma?" It was William who had spoken up again, and Desmond felt a groan threaten to rip free from his chest. He hadn't thought that far ahead yet.

"I… didn't. In the end he brought himself out."

He could have sworn he heard a barely suppressed snort coming from Clay, but he chose to not pay attention to it – instead locking his eyes on his father's. William seemed satisfied for the moment, and he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Mark, I realise this is a lot to ask but would you be willing to give us a hand at the temple grounds? It'd be nice to have a familiar face around again, helping us out for old times' sake."

Clay nodded.

"Sure. Not much else I can do. Thanks to you getting me out of that hospital my face is probably going to be on all the news reports, anyway. 'Miracle patient wakes up from coma, walks away with friends and is never heard from again'. Looks like I'll have to keep a low profile now until this blows over."

William chuckled.

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be."

From up the front, Desmond noticed Rebecca visibly tense as she overheard this. He sighed. He dearly hoped Clay was right when he said that she would eventually come around.

"Well now we've had our little chat, how about we introduce ourselves, yeah?" Shaun piped up from the wheel, the Brit glancing over his shoulder briefly at the blond. "I don't know if you were aware I existed, but I'm Shaun Hastings. Though considering Bill deems me as not being worthy enough to speak of, I doubt it really matters."

"Shaun…" William grumbled under his breath. Shaun simply shrugged.

"What? I'm just being honest. God forbid anyone gives a toss about the man who works day and night to try and keep you all up to date with Abstergo's movements. Nope, I'm not important at all—"

"Shaun!"

"—And that bossy harlot is Rebecca Crane."

" _Shaun!_ "

Clay arched a brow and glanced at Desmond, a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. Desmond sighed again, feeling far too drained at this point to even bother making comment, and he closed his eyes as he tilted his head back against the seat's headrest.

"How much longer is it until we reach that temple?" He found himself asking aloud. The bickering up front promptly stopped.

"We're halfway there. Of course if we didn't have to stop and get our newfound friend here, we might have arrived already," came Shaun's reply.

"Shaun I'm  _really_ not in the mood for this right now."

He could have sworn he felt Shaun roll his eyes.

"Another hour."

Desmond nodded. That was more like it.

"I suggest we all put our energy into planning ahead this next hour." Heads turned to look at William. The man had his hands clasped over his lap, and he was looking at his son. Desmond's jaw clenched and he felt his stomach flip uneasily. He knew that look only far too well. It usually meant that his father was about to demand something from him, and when he saw pale blue eyes look down at the animus his worst fears were confirmed.

"No." His response was automatic and he almost surprised himself at the sharpness in his voice. William looked at him with genuine surprise and irritation.

"Son, we need all the information we can ge—"

"I've already been in there today and I've seen that damn memory more times than I wanted to – I am  _not_ going back in there."

William's gaze turned livid.

"Desmond Miles—"

"If he doesn't want to go in, he doesn't want to go in."

Both Desmond's and William's eyes widened and they turned their heads to glance at Clay, who had just interjected. He had his hands folded behind his head, but there was an unmistakeable hostility within his piercing gaze as he stared calmly at William. Desmond momentarily felt shocked. Was Clay actually sticking up for him?

He hoped that he wouldn't do anything stupid. William on the other hand seemed genuinely surprised.

"I beg your pardon?"

Clay shifted forwards in his seat, bringing his hands down.

"If what you said about Clay was anything to go by, I think it's safe to assume that we shouldn't push him into this."

"Desmond's fine. He's been adapting well to the technology and he's not showing any of the symptoms that Sixteen had."

"It's only a matter of time. Give him a rest." Clay's voice was calm, but there was an unmistakeable hardness to his tone, easily likened to the warning hiss of a snake before it would strike. William fell silent, the man reclining back and crossing a leg over his knee, glancing at his son with a calculating expression. Eventually he sighed. Then he nodded.

"Fine."

Desmond could have sunk onto the floor in relief. Even Clay seemed glad that he had been able to make the other man see sense for the time being, and he leant back into his seat again, refolding his arms behind his head. A heavy silence blanketed the van for another moment or two until William stood up, gripping onto the handles on the wall to steady himself as they drove along the highway.

"Make yourselves comfortable," he muttered, then carefully navigated his way past the animus to bend his head down and speak in hushed conversation with Rebecca and Shaun. The other two watched him for a minute, and as soon as they had determined that William was too preoccupied to hear them, Desmond looked at Clay – incredulity written clearly within his deep brown eyes.

"Thanks…"

Clay smiled, though it was somewhat strained. He leant forwards and buried his hands in his hair, running his fingers through the blond strands as he gazed at the floor.

"Anytime."

He was hurting – anyone could see that. There was no doubt that entire conversation had left the man completely on edge. Desmond quite frankly didn't know how Clay was able to keep a hold of himself. He wanted to talk to him about it, to help him as best he could, but at the same time he knew that that was a topic best left for when they were completely alone. So he did the next best thing.

"If you ever, y'know… wanna talk about it… just let me know."

"I'm ok." Clay's tone was clipped, but not unkindly so. Rather he just sounded tired. Desmond nodded. He placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, letting him know that if he ever did need to just say anything, he'd be there. He owed him that much, after all.

A ghost of a smile etched its way onto Clay's lips, and he closed his eyes, burying them with his hands. Desmond removed his hand and sat back, glancing out the front windshield and allowing himself to become mesmerised by the trees and roads passing them by, cars dotted here and there on the highway.

It would be a long hours' drive.


	6. Chapter 6

The trundling of the van coming to a complete and utter halt was what woke Desmond up. He groaned, lifting a hand to rub his eyes clear of the blurriness in his vision as he blinked once, twice, and then managed to look around him.

"We're here," came Shaun's voice from the front, the man already opening the door and exiting the vehicle. Rebecca followed suit and William stood from his seat, walking towards the latch on the van's back door and opening it. Late afternoon sunlight coursed through the dimly lit back seats, and Desmond lifted a hand to shield his eyes, wincing against the bright onslaught. Beside him he was vaguely aware of someone moving and he watched as Clay stood and stretched his hands in front of him, looking back down at the brunet as if waiting for him to hurry up.

He extended his hand, Desmond giving a faint smile of gratitude as he was pulled up from his seat. Clay's expression was unreadable, but it was clear that in the time that they had stopped talking earlier and Desmond had fallen asleep he had still been bothered by William's words. Before Desmond could say anything Clay had already turned around, jumping down onto the ground below and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets.

Desmond sighed, following suit and shading the sun from his eyes with his hands as he glanced around.

"Where the hell are we?" He found himself asking.

"Somewhere where Abstergo hopefully won't find us," Rebecca answered from where she'd begun to pick up some of the boxes from inside the van.

"In other words the middle of nowhere, Desmond. Do try and keep up. I thought we'd already been over this earlier," Shaun reprimanded as he took the box that Rebecca passed to him. Desmond ignored the comment, instead striding forwards to more thoroughly inspect the clearing within which they had parked.

There was no doubt that this was farmland. All around them were fields of green grass, neatly cut and criss-crossed with the tracks of various animals. A thick canopy of trees was situated nearby, the leaves evergreen and seeming to shimmer almost with the dying rays of the sun that glanced over them. In the near distance the hills were dotted with pale yellow – wheat fields maybe – and the air was crisp and carried with it the heady scent of earth and grain. Pale white peaks were moving in the distance, and Desmond recognised them as the tops of windmills.

"We found a cave a few minutes' walk away from here. Inside is a rock wall that's been subject to graffiti over the years but there's undoubtedly First Civilisation etchings visible underneath all the paint," William announced. This caught Desmond's attention.

"And there's also a nice little spot where I'd wager that Apple would slide into…" Shaun added, walking past the brunet as he followed Rebecca to where no doubt the direction of the cave was. Desmond's hand tightened around the strap of his satchel, as if he was only now aware of the weight of the object still nestled neatly within.

"Any idea what we'll find inside?" He muttered lowly, eyeing Clay as the blond strode into view beside him as he made to follow the others. Clay was pulled out of his reverie – the man having spent the last few minutes simply looking around him, as if taking their surroundings in. He'd been paying attention to the sky in particular, and Desmond hadn't missed the way his eyes had automatically focused on the first cluster of stars that were revealed with the setting of the sun.

Clay shrugged.

"Something neither of us want to see." That was all he said, and Desmond smiled grimly in agreement.

"Awful time to bring this up I know, but will we be spending the majority of our time down in those caves? Presuming there's more than one in there, that is," Shaun piped up from the front. Everyone looked at him.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" William replied.

Shaun didn't look too happy.

"Well considering it's standard practice to maintain some semblance of personal hygiene and not to mention regular mealtimes, I would rather appreciate it if we could—"

"Relax, Shaun. You'll have your high class luxury and five cups of British tea with milk a day, don't worry," Rebecca teased him. Shaun narrowed his eyes behind his glasses.

"I was being serious."

"So was I."

"I'll have a look around and see if there're any farmers in the area that'd be willing to help out five campers lodging here. If not, there's a general store about half an hour away from where we can stop off every so often to stock up on supplies," William grunted as he shuffled the box he was holding in his hands, taking the lead and motioning for the others to hurry up and follow him inside a jutting crag in the rock further up ahead – the hillside appearing as if something had been carved into it long ago and split the earth apart in its wake.

This effectively ceased all further complaint from Shaun, who had lightened up considerably, and the group fell into silence once more. As they stepped through into the cave, the air quickly turning cold and damp, Desmond couldn't help but feel uneasy. He slung his satchel down off of his shoulder, reaching inside and taking out the Apple, feeling its heavy weight cool and metallic in his grip. Beside him he could feel Clay's uneasy stare, the blond obviously not liking the close proximity with the thing. Desmond understood the notion perfectly, and he did his best to offer some kind of reassuring smile as he strode forwards – up to the wall which William stopped at.

As a torch was raised to lighten the darkness of the cave, Desmond sucked in a breath as he trailed his eyes over the rock formation in front of him. There was no doubt this was of First Civilisation origin. Foreign lines – glyphs and writings all too familiar to him – marred the surface of the onyx brick. As if etched there by some supernatural power they managed to stand out even amongst the layers of paint sprayed there by careless teens over the years. He reached out with his free hand, touching his fingertips to the rock. It was smooth. Almost unnaturally smooth.

The Apple glowed faintly in his palm, and its weight increased. Behind him he could hear the sharp intakes of breath from the others, and someone had taken a step forwards. He didn't need to see them to know it was Clay – and it was only when the blond had also reached out a hand to touch the wall that he turned to meet brown eyes with blue.

"Moment of truth?" Desmond managed to get out, albeit weakly. Clay offered a pained smile.

"I don't like this."

Desmond nodded.

"Me either."

His grip tightened on the orb in his hand, and as he moved it towards a spherical shaped indent that he noticed lower down the wall, he had to momentarily shield his eyes once more to prevent being blinded by the beam of golden light which flared outwards from the artefact. Clay grimaced, taking a step back and wincing against the rays as they seemed to scorch the very cave around them, the others following suit and trying to hide their eyes from the all-encompassing brightness. Startled cries rang forth from them all, the sound overwhelming. The Apple thrummed, shaking within Desmond's palm, as if something behind that wall was calling to it, demanding it be returned to where it rightfully belonged. He grit his teeth, hissing against the noise and finally managing to thrust the orb into the slot before him.

There was a sharp _click_ which echoed in the dark space around the group, and for a minute nothing happened.

And then the wall started moving.

Unanimous yells erupted from everyone present, Desmond jumping back as the cave rumbled and shook – as if an earthquake was tearing through the ground beneath them. Shaun was clinging to the dirt-encrusted roots sticking out from the cave ceiling, and Rebecca had grabbed onto William, the grey haired man holding her steady as they tried to regain their balance.

Clay and Desmond had slightly better luck, being as close to the wall as they were, and they were able to hold onto it for balance just long enough before its smooth jaws parted and fell away before them, the ground thankfully ceasing its violent shuddering as the passage before them revealed itself.

Panting, everyone straightened up, glancing wide-eyed at one another. The Apple fell to the ground, and Desmond cautiously bent down to retrieve it – noticing how it no longer weighed heavily in his palm. For a moment he wondered if it had somehow had its strange power sapped away by the wall before them, but he didn't have time to think on this further as he quickly shoved it back into his satchel, William having tossed him a torch as his father wasted no time in stepping through the pitch-black hallway, dust and dirt billowing around his body as he moved.

"Let's see where this leads, shall we?" His voice echoed through the cavernous space around him. His torch danced across the passage revealed, and miles upon miles of black, glyph-clustered walls rose to meet them.

It was like looking into the very shaft of an abyss, of which it was not certain if there would be any way out.

Anxiety was etched clearly upon everyone's faces, anxiety and uncertainty. Shaun had placed a hand on Rebecca's wrist and he had begun to guide her forwards, and it wasn't long until they too had disappeared forth into the gaping maw before them, the blackness seeming to swallow them whole. Not even the faint glisten of torchlight could fully cast away that oppressive shadow.

"Amazing…" Clay breathed, the blond following suit and running his fingers along the walls as he passed them by. His voice was thick with awe, his expression even more so. "Freaking amazing…"

Desmond swung his torch around, gazing at the thick pillars of stone carved into the very earth around them. The air was cold. Too cold.

"Tinia showed me glimpses of this place… when Ezio passed on that message to me in Altaïr's library," he began. He mildly wondered how despite the closeness of the wall's proximity, his voice did not echo around the black cavern. Clay looked at him.

"I know. I was kind of in your head at the time, remember?" He quirked an eyebrow, his lips pulling upwards into a smirk. Desmond rolled his eyes.

"Well excuse me…" He muttered. Clay chuckled, returning his hand to his side and matching his pace easily with Desmond's as the pair followed the others. The passage curved ever downwards into the hillside.

"It's kind of exciting though, don't you think?" He asked. Desmond looked at him.

"What is? Walking to your inevitable doom?" He tried to put on a teasing front. Clay snickered.

"Been there, done that," he replied jovially. "No I was referring to this place. After only seeing bits and pieces of it in scattered fragments in your mind, it's actually something to really _be_ here, y'know?"

"I guess," Desmond shrugged, glancing his torch along the path ahead to check to see if anything had possibly fallen down and blocked their way. One couldn't be too careful in a cavern that was undoubtedly entire millenniums old, after all.

He heard voices up ahead and he stopped, Clay stopping with him.

"Desmond, Mark – hurry up. We need your help."

Sharing a look, the pair picked up the pace, now jogging along to where the other three were impatiently waiting for them. William was shining his torch down to where the earth had cracked and given way – the path before them having splintered and shattered downwards. It would take a fair bit of careful navigating to pick one's way back up again.

"Can you both head down there and check to see if there are any more obstructions like this? I'd rather make certain there isn't a death trap ahead if we're to pass all these boxes down and get the animus set up below."

Desmond felt his jaw drop.

"You can't _seriously_ be thinking of bringing that thing all the way down here—"

"Son, do as I say."

Desmond held his tongue, wanting nothing more than to lash out with an angry retort. The only thing that prevented him from doing so was a quick warning glance shot his way by Clay. He grumbled something unintelligible, already walking towards the edge and sliding carefully down to the bottom below. As he straightened up and smoothed out his clothes, he waited for Clay who followed suit – lithely springing back up again as soon as his feet touched the ground. They continued on.

"You're getting used to that body a lot quicker than I thought you would," Desmond murmured lowly as he glanced his torch around the walls again. Clay shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"The animus has amazing simulating abilities. I'll admit I'm still trying to get used to the feel of things, but the longer I spend hooked up to this guy's brain the more I can properly manipulate Mark's limbs to work the way I remembered mine working before I checked out."

"So what you're saying is you were a show off even before you infiltrated Abstergo?" Desmond smirked. Clay snickered at that.

"And a damn good one at that, too."

This made Desmond's smile widen a little bit more, and he returned his attention back to what was in front of him. So far so good – there weren't any signs of any further obstructions ahead in this passageway. The various writings on the walls however had changed in shape and form, and he frowned thoughtfully as he glanced at them.

"What do you suppose they say?" He asked, motioning to the set of glyphs they passed by. Clay looked over his shoulder at them.

"Dunno. Probably couldn't be as apocalyptic as the ones I wrote though." He shrugged. Desmond arched an eyebrow.

"Apocalyptic?" He repeated, somewhat incredulously at the man's word choice. Clay grinned.

"Everyone loves a conspiracy. December 21st 2012 I seem to recall writing. And I was right! I foretold the apocalypse, Desmond Miles. I'm a fucking god," he snickered. Desmond groaned and lifted a hand to punch the blond in the arm, Clay only laughing harder as he slung that very arm around the brunet's shoulders.

"You know it's true."

"Get off of me."

Clay grinned and did as he was told, though he still retained that same smirk upon his lips. Desmond shook his head. They lapsed into a brief silence again, their footsteps making no sound around the cavernous halls that housed them. Presently though, their pace drew to a steady halt as the air around them grew noticeably fresher, as if it was rushing in from some space up ahead. Sharing a cautious glance with one another they continued forth, and it wasn't until some five minutes later that they had found themselves leaving the corridor they had been traversing… only to find themselves entering a labyrinth.

Their eyes widened, and they gazed around with awe-filled faces.

"Holy shit…" Desmond breathed. Clay nodded.

"You can say that again…"

It stretched on for miles. Pillars, black as ebony and as monolithic as skyscrapers rose everywhere before them. The same glyphs were carved into their otherwise perfectly smooth surfaces, and the icy pit of the cavern around them was lit with an eerie blue glow. A lone path spread out and over a gaping chasm below them, but halfway across it had cut off – leaving no way to traverse to the other side thanks to a barrier drawn across it. Their eyes trailed over the plunging gap to focus on what lay ahead, across the ruined bridge. The barrier was a transparent wall… with a singular spherical orb crafted into the very centre of a platform a fair few metres behind it. It was clear that behind that wall was what they had come here to find – a way to help prevent humanity from total destruction.

It was now only a matter of reaching it.

"So this is the place…" Clay stepped forward, all the while turning his head this way and that to take in as much of this long-forgotten temple as he could. The air felt stagnant, heavy. "We're finally here…"

Desmond's eyes were fixed upon the broken bridge.

"We should tell the others." His voice sounded far away to his own ears. Dread had been creeping its way through his chest, and it settled there – right in his heart. Somehow… he didn't know how or why… but somehow he knew that once he crossed that bridge… there would be no going back.

It was a great effort to tear his gaze away, but when he finally did so he noticed something in the corner of his sight, tucked neatly away underneath an overhanging piece of rubble. Frowning, he crouched down and picked it up, blinking as he raised the object within his palm. It was surprisingly heavy, and it seemed to have been crafted out of a similar type of smooth substance that the walls were. It was a bright, crystal blue, jagged on all edges and moulded into something vaguely reminiscent of a cube shape. The same markings on the walls were carved into its uneven surface, and they seemed to shimmer as they caught the light. Clay stepped closer, inspecting the object over Desmond's shoulder. Desmond looked up at him then, the confusion in his gaze echoing Clay's own.

"What do you think this is for?" He asked. Clay blinked.

"No clue. It looks like it fits into something..." He looked around, eyes darting over the debris around them. He froze a short moment later, motioning for Desmond to follow as he pointed towards what looked like a panel of some description a few ways ahead. As they walked over, they had both simultaneously held their breaths - running their eyes over the rock which resembled something like a futuristic looking workspace jutting out from the same stuff the walls were made of. In it was an indented hole. A hole which perhaps not-so coincidentally appeared to house the exact object they were holding, if its cubed shape with jagged edges was anything to go by.

Desmond carefully reached out, lowering the artefact in his hands down towards the depression in the rock, and his breath was quickly forced out of his lungs as he jumped back a moment later; a bright light had flared from the cube, the walls had begun to shake, and the oppressive sound of the object locking into place seemed to momentarily shatter his ears. He winced, both he and Clay keeping a fair distance away from the panel as they struggled to keep their balance until the earth finally ceased trembling beneath their feet... and when it stopped, they could only look on frozen in shock when they lifted their gazes to see that the bridge behind the barrier had moved, sliding a metre or so ahead before stopping.

They rushed forwards, leaning over the panel to glance down below at the temple laid out before them.

"We both saw that, right?" Desmond asked somewhat nervously. Clay nodded, apparently not being able to think of anything else to add onto that as he pushed away, focusing his attention on the younger man.

"C'mon," he urged. Desmond swallowed the thick lump in his throat and he managed a nod, spinning around and following the blond as he led the way back out. Clay looked over his shoulder at him. "So apparently those things, whatever the hell they are – batteries or something? – are our ticket to getting that bridge open."

"Looks like it..." Desmond agreed, though everything about his tone clearly stated that he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around that one yet. Clay cussed lightly under his breath.

"We'll have to go looking for the rest of them, I'm calling it right now. What the hell even _was_ that down there? Some kind of... pedestal?"

Desmond didn't reply. Seeing that he was going to get nowhere for the time being Clay heaved a heavy sigh and fell silent. As they continued on their trek back towards the others, no further comments were said, each man clearly lost to their own thoughts. Desmond just hoped that his thoughts would take a different direction, and soon.

When they at last got back, William was anxious.

"Well? What was that noise?"

"Something you'll need to see for yourselves. We've found the temple," Clay called up. The other three gave relieved sighs. And with that, the next fifteen minutes saw Desmond and Clay carefully helping Rebecca and Shaun down, whilst William gathered the boxes and passed them towards the others before sliding down himself. Clay had explained the situation in the temple while Desmond led the way, and when all five were at last standing within the inner sanctum, they allowed a moment to rest.

"Oh my god… can you imagine all the thousands of years of history just lying hidden within these walls?" Shaun breathed, the Brit looking the most excited Desmond could ever recall seeing him as he walked from pillar to pillar, pressing his hands against the rock with reverent touches.

"Indeed," William agreed. He shot an approving glance towards his son.

"Good job, son."

Desmond didn't answer him. Rebecca called out to them from where she had walked off to a sheltered area some few metres away from the entrance.

"Hey guys, I've got good news! Whatever the First Civ were doing down here they've got enough power reserves set up to last us weeks! We'll have no problems getting the animus up and running."

"Fantastic!" William exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "We'll get started straight away. Mark, would you help me get it down here?"

Clay froze where he was standing, looking momentarily unsure of himself. He quickly regained his composure however and nodded, walking with William back towards the tunnels. Desmond watched them leave, feeling suddenly isolated as Clay left. It was like he'd lost his only support for the moment, and seeing Rebecca turn her sharp eyes upon him he realised _why_ he was so nervous now in the first place.

"Desmond, I want to get these computers set up. Any chance you could help me run these cables around the place?"

"Oh what am I then? Chopped liver?"

"Shut up Shaun."

Desmond clenched his jaw, steeling himself as he approached the raven haired woman. He took the cables she thrust out towards him, and he wasn't surprised in the least when she leaned up and hissed in his ear as soon as Shaun skulked by them both.

"I can't keep my mouth shut about this forever. I'm going to have a talk with Sixteen – yes, _tonight_ – and if he's not gonna get himself out of Mark's body I'm going to damn well pull him out of there myself."

Desmond tensed up.

"Rebecca I don't—"

"That's all I'm going to say about this." She turned around and left him with the cables. Desmond stood there a moment, his hands tightly wound around the wires. He played with the idea of throwing them to the ground and running up to the woman to try and talk some sense into her, but in the end he opted to just calmly place them against a slab of rubble, lifting a hand to his brow and taking a moment to calm himself.

Thankfully Shaun provided some form of distraction.

"Hey, guess what!" He announced as he came back, having jogged over from where he had gone off to inspect what appeared to be a side corridor of some description.

"What?" Rebecca looked up.

"I found an underground spring in one of the temple rooms along the side there. It's a rather small space, but there's a deep well which could have been used for some kind of ritual. The water looks fresh enough despite it being here for thousands of years. I think I've just discovered a good bath!"

Rebecca stared at him.

"I can't believe you."

"What?" Shaun looked genuinely affronted.

"You really wanna go swimming around in ancient sewage water?"

Shaun frowned, straightening himself up.

"It's not sewage! It's proper fresh water! Look, come along. I'll show you if you're having such a hard time believing me." He didn't wait for Rebecca to protest and he pushed her towards the direction of the room he was talking about, allowing Desmond to be left alone by himself in the temple's main sanctum.

He shivered, feeling the unnatural coldness of the air creep over his skin and chill him to the core, despite the warmth of his hoodie. He stood there, crossing his arms over his chest and allowing this moment of peace to gather his thoughts…

He was going to have to warn Clay about Rebecca, obviously. Not that it would be anything the blond wasn't expecting. He just hoped that he would be civil enough about it – the last thing anyone needed, Clay especially, was for William and Shaun to discover who he really was.

Then again, there may just be a time when that could be avoided no longer and they would find out by some alternate means or another. Desmond closed his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat. He sincerely hoped that that time could be avoided as much as possible. Looking for something to do to take his mind off of this he slung his satchel off of his shoulders, settling the bag down on the piece of rubble he'd laid the cords out over. He rubbed his eyes. He was feeling tired again.

He was still standing there when Clay found him like that some twenty minutes later.

"What's up?"

Desmond blinked, lifting his head at the sound of the blond's voice and turning around to see the man approaching him, an eyebrow raised.

"Nothing. Where's dad?"

Clay jerked his head towards the entrance of the temple.

"He's handling the animus. Got it all pulled apart nicely and he told me to come check up on you. I told him I wasn't your babysitter."

Desmond cracked a wan smile.

"But you came back down here anyway."

Clay grinned.

"Of course I did. You think I want to spend my time stuck with Bill any longer than necessary? Christ's sake the man's a nightmare. And I know all about them."

"You and me both."

"Yeah well, I wasn't going to say anything about that," Clay shrugged, clearing his throat. Desmond stretched his arms above his head, sighing as his back popped.

"Rebecca spoke to me when you left with dad…"

Clay's smile faded immediately.

"Oh? … And?"

"And what do you think?" Desmond answered, giving the man a rather pointed expression. "She's pissed. She wants to talk to you tonight."

"I don't remember her being so picky about me when I was alive," Clay muttered, rolling his eyes. Desmond sighed.

"That was before you started wearing another guy's body."

Clay shrugged, looking thoughtful at that.

"Yeah, well… what can I say? Very little, it turns out."

Desmond chose not to comment, instead fixing that same pointed expression back on the older man. Clay noticed this and he cleared his throat, nodding upwards towards the ceiling and walls around them.

"Have you had a chance to go over the place yet?" Clay asked as he strode forwards, making to inspect one of the nearby pillars. Desmond shook his head.

"No, not yet. I'd rather not. I can't help but feel like… something's wrong with this entire place. I mean I get it was one of the last temples that the First Civ had built before the world got destroyed, but still… you'd think there'd be more to it than rock and dust. It's far too empty for my liking."

Clay smirked.

"Empty? I think it feels like we're being watched." He turned his head and fixed Desmond with a conspiratorial glance. Desmond rolled his eyes.

"Cut that shit out."

"Do you believe in ghosts, Desmond?" Clay lifted his hands, flexing his fingers threateningly. Desmond groaned.

"I told you to cut that out. I deal with enough ghosts as it is with the bleeding effect…" He muttered. Clay stopped smirking and sobered up, all prior amusement now draining from his face to be replaced with a look of utmost solemnity.

"Yeah… that I can vouch for," he sighed. "Sometimes I can still hear the Italian."

Desmond gave a bitter smile and reached out to clasp the man on the shoulder, looking behind him when he heard voices. Shaun and Rebecca had re-emerged from the corridor they had disappeared down to.

"Where's Bill?" Shaun asked as he looked up.

"He's on his way," Clay replied. The historian nodded, raising his eyes to the ceiling. Out of everyone here he looked the most genuinely excited.

"I can't wait to get to work on this place…" He breathed. Desmond and Clay shared a glance. Clay's gaze then dropped to lock onto Rebecca's face when the raven haired woman walked past, making to grab the wires that Desmond had left on the nearby rubble. Her expression was hard as she met his stare, and her agitation only visibly increased as the blond's lips twitched into an amused grin.

"Something wrong, Rebecca?" He asked quietly. She didn't reply, instead turning her back to him and walking over to where some of the boxes remained unpacked. Inside them contained the computers that she was yet to set up. Desmond watched her warily.

"I'm expecting someone to come help me with this," a voice echoed down from somewhere behind the group. It was William. Looking for something to do to help take his mind off things Desmond turned around, not waiting for anyone to add further comment as he began jogging his way towards the sound of his father's voice.

Spending five minutes helping with the animus was sounding like heaven right about now. And that was saying something.

* * *

All in all, despite the combined effort that went into unpacking and setting up computers, cameras and the animus itself, they had not reached any semblance of completion of these tasks until some painstakingly long hours later.

Even then, as everyone took a moment to rest, there were still many things that had to be done.

As it was, rest was high on their lists – and in the end it had been four voices against one to try and convince William to let them retire for the night. After all, when Shaun had checked his watch it was revealed that it was nearing four in the morning outside. Everyone had been up since dawn.

Desmond was especially feeling it. As he dragged his feet towards the stone slab upon the floor in one of the empty side rooms he had come across, he could barely keep his eyes open. The blankets he carried with him slipped from his grasp and he groaned.

"You honestly expect me to carry that for you?" Clay arched an eyebrow, following him. Desmond grunted something scathing in response, picking up the blanket and tossing it haphazardly over the rock.

He had told William that he and Mark would be sharing a room – for obvious reasons. To his father he had simply said that it would be easier seeing as there had been no other side corridors or hallways that they had discovered which would be suitable enough for a place to sleep. William had thankfully bought it, and had let Clay go off with his son when the pair bid the others goodnight.

Rebecca, despite having stated earlier that she would come demanding answers from Clay that evening still hadn't shown herself, and Desmond sincerely hoped that she had simply forgotten. There was a fat chance of that happening of course, but it still never hurt to hope.

He was dead tired, and all he wanted to do right now was sleep.

As he laid himself out over the blankets he had strewn across the slab on the ground, he groaned as he tried – unsuccessfully – to get comfortable. Instead he sighed, blinking blearily and glancing around the temple room they were occupying. It was reasonably well sized, with two slabs of rock in the centre. He had no clue what purpose these rocks would have served, but given the dilapidated state of the entire grounds it was most likely they had collapsed from their original places high above in the walls. The air was thankfully less cold in here than it had been outside, but it still carried with it that overwhelming melancholic feel.

It was too quiet. Too empty.

He heard movement and he redirected his attention back towards Clay, the blond not bothering with the blanket and simply seating himself down on the rock next to the one Desmond had taken as his own. He had his hands clasped loosely over his legs, and he was glancing around them as Desmond was – taking it all in. Desmond sat up.

"You're not going to sleep?"

Clay shook his head.

"Funnily enough I'm not tired."

Desmond frowned at this.

"How come?"

Clay shrugged.

"I honestly can't say. Perhaps it's something I'm still trying to come to terms with, being in this body…" He trailed off, flexing his fingers. He laid back, holding his hands in front of his face and sighing softly as he fell silent. Desmond watched him for a moment.

"You don't know how it feels, Desmond… finally having something to call my own again…" Clay's voice was so quiet that the brunet almost had a hard time catching his words. But he did nevertheless. He swung his legs over the rock, now feeling much more awake as he studied the older man carefully. A saddened smile formed on Clay's lips.

"Being able to breathe… being able to walk… see... hear… taste… touch… smell… they're things you take for granted when you're alive, but… when you've been in a computer for so long… you begin to forget." He closed his eyes. "And shit, I _did_ forget…"

Desmond allowed a faint smile to come to his lips, and he sat back against the blanket, gazing up at the black ceiling above. Presently his smile faded and he frowned.

"Hey, Clay…"

"Mm?"

"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."

He heard the sound of weight shifting on the rock nearby.

"What is it?"

Desmond sighed.

"Earlier on… when I asked about Lucy… she was the one who ended up betraying you at Abstergo, wasn't she?"

There was a long silence.

"I thought I told you to forget it." Clay's tone was cold. Desmond opened his eyes and looked at him.

"No, you didn't. You disappeared before I could finish asking," he reminded the other man. "I just need to know."

Clay gazed steadily at him for a long time, as if silently debating with himself how he was going to respond. Desmond knew this was crossing the line, but what choice did he have? It had been burning in the back of his mind since earlier that day. He deserved to know what had happened. He was the one who had killed her, after all.

He willed himself to not remember the gruesome memory, feeling his stomach flip inside of his chest.

It had been so long since he'd heard a reply from Clay he thought that maybe he was going to stay silent for the rest of the night. But then he sighed, and he spoke.

"You have to understand… I don't blame her," he began faintly. His voice carried weight to it, like the very words he spoke bore a severe drain on his mind. "I don't blame her or Abstergo. I can only blame myself."

Desmond was rigid with attention, his eyes focused intently on the blond. Clay drew a leg up to his chest, resting an arm over his kneecap. His eyes were closed.

"When I… allowed myself to be captured by Abstergo, I was there for a year and a half, Desmond. Lucy gave me access to the animus at night, and I was going to collect data on it to feed back to Bill about their new animus project. That was the plan. It was going well, until Vidic decided to extend the sessions. Lucy tried to argue against it, saying that she'd already seen it take its toll on me, but Vidic didn't listen. They… kept me in that thing for hours at a time. I even had a fourteen hour session once… god that was torture…" He gave a strangled chuckle, and his voice shook.

"I didn't find out about Lucy… about who she _really_ worked for until I hacked into the animus one night after that fourteen hour session. I'd just encrypted some data files from the machine and I was about to leave to head back to my room when I heard voices from the conference room next door. I managed to hide myself in time to overhear her and Vidic talking… I knew they'd found out about you – Vidic was often saying that they'd located a new subject who had more promising DNA than I did – but it wasn't until I heard your name uttered by Vidic that night that I finally stopped to listen."

There was another brief silence. Clay opened his eyes, and when he locked them on Desmond's own the brunet was almost startled to see the pain within their crystal blue gaze.

"He told her to take you some place safe if the program wasn't going well. He told her to feed him information about your animus sessions. He told her to take the Apple once you located it so she could hand it over directly to him. It was then that I realised that I wouldn't be getting out of Abstergo. Not alive, at any rate. Lucy was going to get me out of there but… she was working with them all along. She knew the job. She knew I was the assassin Bill sent in. You honestly think a Templar is just going to let their sworn enemy walk free after all the info they'd obtained on one of their most top-secret projects? Not a fucking chance. I knew I was finished. But it was ok. I was half gone by that point anyway. Barely a shred of sanity to hang onto for more than a couple of hours at a time. I went back to bed. The next day I got a letter. It was lying on the desk in my room."

The look in his eyes darkened.

"It was from Lucy. She knew I'd been eavesdropping. She said she'd hoped to win me over to her side… to make me see things the way the Templars did. But now she couldn't. Not since I'd found out everything before she could have a chance to explain. She said she couldn't let me leave, and that was that. My fate had been sealed, and I was left to carry out the deed by myself."

He ran his hands over his face, exhaling sharply.

"I've tried feeling angry about it… I've tried hating her, hating Abstergo… hell, even hating Bill for sending me there in the first place. But in the end I've only been able to hate myself. Why? Because I was an idiot. I thought I'd finally found a purpose in life. I thought I could finally do right by people and make them proud. But no. I was just a stepping stone to get to you… the 'chosen one'. But it doesn't matter because we're all reducible in the end aren't we, Seventeen? Just numbers. That's _all_ we'll ever be."

His smile turned into a sneer, and Desmond felt a hollowness settle over his chest. He didn't know what he'd been expecting upon hearing Clay's story, but he knew he wasn't counting on it being this.

"Clay, I—"

"Just get some sleep, Des." Clay's tone left no room for argument. He turned on his side, finally lying down on his makeshift bed, back facing Desmond.

Desmond blinked, opening his mouth and feeling sorely tempted to damn well continue this conversation, but he didn't. He closed his mouth again, his eyes following suit and he groaned faintly under his breath.

His mind was still swimming, and the sleep he fell into, when he finally _did_ fall asleep, was not an easy one.


	7. Chapter 7

_Blood. Everywhere he looked there was blood._

_On the walls, the floor… seeping into the cracks and glistening wetly on their jagged surface. It wasn't his blood. At least he didn't think it was._

_But it was blood all the same._

_He heard voices, saw visions… his eyes were blinded by gold. Bright. Unforgiving. Relentless._

_He heard the voices, heard the words, but they were not his own. His mouth was moving, but it wasn't him who was speaking._

_He was told to kill. Kill… kill… kill… KILL..._

_And he did. His blade pierced her heart. He felt her life's essence drain away into his hand – the light died from her eyes and she slumped over motionless, a battered corpse. The vision shifted and he heard screaming – screams that he recognised this time as his own. The laughter came next, and soon it multiplied and throbbed in his ears._

_The corpse was moving – wrists cut open, bleeding. Pale fingers bony and gaunt twitched and curled. They moved and flexed, drawing gruesome lines on the floor. He recognised the glyphs. He'd seen them before._

_The corpse turned then, and what once were clear blue eyes were now black and hollow. His smile was cruel, broken, as the blood drained from his eyes, his mouth, his face. Crimson splatters lined the walls._

" _They drained my soul and made it theirs… I drain my body to show you where I saw it…"_

_The words repeated. Over and over, like a mantra spun from the depths of hell. The laughter grew louder – it was overwhelming. He couldn't think, couldn't feel. He was powerless._

_Then, suddenly, it stopped._

" _Get back in the animus, Mr Miles."_

_He was screaming even as hands rose to pin him down._

* * *

Desmond's eyes flew open and he lurched forwards, sucking in deep gulps of air. He was sweating, cold perspiration sheening across his skin and making his clothes stick uncomfortably to him. The blankets were wrapped tightly around legs, as if he'd been thrashing in his sleep. He knew that he had been.

His eyes darted around him, trying to determine where he was. He was shivering, shaking violently. His hands clawed up to his face and he gripped his head in his palms, and it took a great mental effort to try and force himself to calm down. His heart was pounding so wildly in his chest he could hear the blood surging through his ears, and that only increased his anxiety as the horrifying memories of that nightmare came back to him.

"No…" He found himself whimpering. "No, no, _no_ … please… no…"

His throat felt raw. He grit his teeth, still panting heavily for breath as he tried his hardest to breathe in… hold it… then breathe out. It took him ten minutes.

Eventually he finally managed enough courage to lift his head once more to glance blearily around him, his mind – for the most part – settled again. He noticed that the room was empty; Clay had evidently disappeared. He supposed that was a good thing for the most part, given that the last thing he would want the man to see would be him suffering nightmares so much like the ones that he would have likely had.

But at the same time, any thought of Clay right now made Desmond feel uneasy. Especially when he'd just seen him…

 _No._ He tried to forget about his nightmare again. They were getting worse, that was for sure.

Groaning, he threw the blankets off of him, having to wrench them free from his sweaty limbs. The air was cold, though he felt scorching hot. He needed to get out. He didn't know where – outside, maybe – but anywhere was better than this temple.

He didn't know what time it was, but that was the least of his worries.

He stumbled blindly forwards, like a man lost in a desert. Grunting with the exertion he used his hands to help steady him against the pillars as he passed them by, and he strode uneasily out towards the inner sanctum within which they had unpacked their belongings. He didn't see anyone else around, so it was safe to assume they were still asleep.

Good. He could use the extra privacy.

He made it an effort to avoid looking at the animus as much as he could as he passed it by, and he was almost halfway towards the tunnel leading to the cool air of the outside world when he stopped. He had heard something.

He was suddenly made aware of the noise his feet made across the ground as he halted in his steps, and, wincing, he carefully navigated his way towards where he had been sure he had heard the source of that sound. It was coming from one of the corridors leading past the animus – a corridor he knew to be where the others had said they would make their rooms for the night.

He frowned, curiosity getting the better of him. He was sure everyone had been asleep. He inched forwards closer, making his way towards the gaping doorway, bright blue symbols etched across its surface. He could see faint light from beyond in the darkened passage, and he knew that light to be torchlight. Someone was definitely up, and there was no doubt about it… it was raised voices he was hearing.

He willed his steps to remain silent as he proceeded forth, the absolute height of caution. The closer he edged further downwards, the clearer the sounds became – and he recognised one voice lighter than the other. Rebecca's, perhaps.

Desmond frowned once more. What was Rebecca doing up at this hour? And who was she talking to? It was unlike her.

He got his answer when he stopped outside the pillared doorway.

" _Oh yeah? And what the fuck makes you think_ I _had anything to do with that?!"_

It was Clay. Desmond's eyes widened momentarily, and then dread surged within his chest. If Clay was talking to Rebecca, that meant that she'd finally gotten a hold of him. He resisted the urge to groan.

" _His nightmares have only been getting worse since he helped YOU_ _escape from the animus, Sixteen! Don't tell me you didn't hear him screaming just ten minutes ago?!"_

" _Oh that's fucking rich. Have you ever tried spending time in that thing yourself, Rebecca? Go on. I dare you. I DARE you to take one fucking five minute break from your cameras so you can just sit in that machine you made and find out for yourself! What he's going through – what_ I _went through… that had and still has NOTHING to do with me! You're killing him! Ask me how I know this, Rebecca. ASK ME!"_

Desmond's breath hitched in his throat and for a moment he felt as if he was frozen.

" _I don't—"_

" _You don't what? Have time for this? Funny, that. I don't seem to recall anyone having any time for me either when I needed help the most. Look where it got me. Tossed out into the river after I took my own life because I was NOTHING. Not like Desmond. No, he's the guy who's going to magically save us all from some god-fucking-damned solar flare only because Juno said he would! Do you have any idea who she even IS_ _?! She's USING him! Like she used me… used Ezio, used every single one of our fucking ancestors since the beginning of time!"_

" _We… we don't know that—"_

" _But_ I _do. And I swear to god I'm going to make DAMN sure he survives this! I owe him that. I actually CARE what happens to him unlike the rest of your sorry asses! So don't come up to me and tell me to leave. Not when he's done this for me. Not when he's given me a life again! It's my job to help him, and that's what I'm going to do whether you like it or not."_

There was a lengthy silence – so prolonged in fact that Desmond had half wondered if Rebecca had simply got up and left. But that was the least of his concerns. His mind was swimming from what he had just heard yelled from Clay's lips.

He couldn't believe it.

 _He's actually sticking up for me…_ He gripped his head. _I don't even deserve it._

He felt a surge of gratitude for the man, and it was enough to help push the horrifying memories of that nightmare free from his mind for the time being. But even then, he wondered how he could possibly prove his worth to someone who had put their absolute faith in him like that… and it wasn't just Clay. It was the whole planet now, wasn't it?

He felt the weight come crashing down around him. His chest felt tight.

Why did it have to come to this. Why did any of this have to happen? And then Clay's words finally registered.

" _She's USING him!"_

Desmond closed his eyes.

Juno…

He knew it, of course. There was no way in hell that he couldn't have _not_ seen through her twisted messages, her corrupt prophecies… she'd spun this web since the beginning of time, and now all her waiting was finally going to pay off it would seem. Whether at the cost of his own life or the world's, he didn't know. But he had a sinking feeling it would be both. He and Clay… _everyone_ … they were all just pawns.

He heard movement from inside and his attention was brought back to the present.

" _We all care what happens to him."_ It was Rebecca, her voice so quiet Desmond almost had to press his ear against the pillared wall to try and hear her better. Her words were answered by a bitter laugh.

" _Really? Care for him so much that you make sure he spends every waking minute of every day strapped into that thing? We're getting nowhere with this little 'talk' you wanted to have with me, Rebecca. It's the same thing over and over. I'm right. You're wrong. You can't do anything about it. I'm not going to leave. By all means, you can tell Bill and Shaun that I'm riding in Mark's body if you want. I don't care. They won't be able to do anything about it either. I'm done talking."_

The sound of footsteps echoing within the darkened space informed Desmond that Clay was getting ready to leave. He fell away from the edge of the pillar he was leaning against, not even bothering to try and head back out towards his makeshift quarters. Clay was almost at the door and he would see Desmond instantly. It was better to just stay there and wait for him instead of trying to slink away into the shadows and increasing his suspicion even more.

He turned his head to glance in the direction of the pillar when he heard the footsteps pause.

" _Oh… by the way… you called me 'Sixteen' again earlier…"_

There was another prolonged silence. When Clay spoke again, his words were a low hiss.

" _I have a name. I expect you to use it."_

The footsteps resumed, and sure enough the person who turned the corner was Clay. He didn't seem surprised at all to see Desmond standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Rather, he looked like he'd been expecting him. He gave a humourless smile.

"Did you catch all that?"

Desmond held the man's gaze, not even bothering to appear shocked by the question. He sighed.

"Most of it."

"Good. I don't have to repeat anything then."

Desmond fell into step beside him when Clay shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and motioned for the brunet to follow. He didn't say anything else. Clay noted Desmond's silence and appeared uncomfortable with it.

"How are you feeling?"

"About what?"

Clay stared at him, everything in his eyes telling Desmond that he should already know what he was referring to. The brunet sighed again, his chest constricting painfully as he shook his head.

"Fine… I guess."

"It looked pretty bad from where I was sitting. Not to mention your screaming was enough to wake everyone up. Still, though… you're not the only one who's had nightmares like that."

Desmond nodded, his lips pursing into a thin line.

"What was I… y'know… screaming about?" He had a sinking suspicion already, but he needed to ask anyway. Clay didn't respond. Desmond's lips then twitched into a bitter smile and he reached up and ran a hand through his short brown locks, biting back the groan.

"What time is it?"

Clay shrugged.

"Some time after five I guess. You were out for about an hour before you started flailing around and I didn't get any sleep – no small thanks to you – so I honestly can't say for sure."

Desmond's eyes narrowed.

"Yeah I just asked a question, alright? No need to be an asshole about it."

"Just telling it like it is."

Desmond rolled his eyes, not in the mood for this right now. Presently the pair walked back out towards the inner sanctum, the faint glowing pillars and the gateway beyond the broken bridge carrying with them a rather imposing, cold feeling.

"So here's the thing…"

He span around to look at Clay who had spoken again, the blond leaning his back against one of the nearby walls and nodding his head towards the animus beside him.

"When you get back in there I'm going to be monitoring everything very carefully. I'm going to make sure you're not staying in there for any longer than three hours at a time. Why three hours? Because I could handle three hour intervals in the animus before I started feeling the crazy slip in. Talking from experience here. Now…" He motioned towards the bridge, Desmond following his gaze.

"Obviously Juno wants you to get access to whatever it is beyond that gate. Otherwise the First Civ wouldn't have guided you here in their fucked up acid trip through time. I think it's safe to assume that Ezio has the answers you're after, which is why – regrettably – you're going to have to keep slaving away at the animus for a while yet until you can find what you're looking for. I wouldn't know anything about it though, I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him while I was in Abstergo. Sorry."

Desmond offered a grim smile.

"It's ok."

Clay nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

"So the question here is… how long are you going to last before you start painting symbols on the walls?"

"Clay…"

"I can afford a couple of off-colour jokes at my own expense, don't worry about me. But I was being serious. December 21st is less than two months away. You can't keep doing this forever."

Desmond was silent for a long moment, pondering Clay's words. The blond was speaking the truth – that much couldn't be argued. Desmond had often wondered the same things himself, after all. His nightmares were getting worse if this morning was anything to go by. He'd suffered the bleeding effect. There was no doubt about it. If he didn't find a way to save the planet soon, he might just very well end up taking the easy way out exactly like Clay did.

"I'm just gonna have to keep trying until I get somewhere."

Clay nodded again.

"I was afraid you were going to say that."

Desmond shrugged, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets and beginning to walk towards the bridge.

"Well what do you want me to say? I can't save the world if I don't try to push myself to get the answers I need. If it means me going out the way you did then… I'm just going to have to take that chance." He turned around then. "I don't think keeping me in the animus for three hours at a time is going to help."

Clay lowered his gaze, decidedly finding the ground rather interesting.

"Not in the long run, no. But at least it'll prevent you from going completely off the rails for the short time we have left."

Desmond cocked his head, his brows furrowing at the blond's words.

"You don't think we'll make it out of here alive, do you?" His words were so quiet one almost couldn't hear them. But Clay did. His lips pressed into a thin line.

"Honestly? No."

Desmond turned his head back to gaze out over the bridge and the expansive chasm beyond. The air was freezing down here.

"Glad I'm not the only one then."

There was another silence which weighed heavily across the two.

"Thanks, by the way."

Clay blinked when Desmond's soft words reached him. He shifted his weight against the pillar.

"For what?"

Desmond looked over his shoulder at the other man again.

"For sticking up for me back there."

The blond's lips twitched into a faint grin, and Clay shrugged his shoulders.

"Just returning the favour."

Desmond smiled.

"You two out here already? You're rather eager to get started today, aren't you Desmond?"

The pair looked around to see Shaun approaching, the Brit stifling a yawn with the back of his hand and stretching his arms above his head. Just like that Desmond felt his mood deflate, his mind slipping back into the harrowing feeling of despair that he had come to associate long ago with a day in the animus. Clay frowned, pushing away from the wall and walking up to the brunet, placing his hand reassuringly on his shoulder as he passed him by.

"Any chance we could get some food first?" The blond interrupted before Desmond could say anything. Shaun grunted, reaching up to pull his glasses off the bridge of his nose so he could clean them against the folds of his jumper before replying.

"I was about to ask the same thing myself, actually. Are Bill and Rebecca up yet?"

"Rebecca is."

Shaun lightened up considerably.

"Is she? Wonderful! How about you uh, keep her busy for a moment yeah? Just so I can go grab the van and—"

"You're not driving the van until Bill wakes up."

Shaun stifled a groan, Rebecca choosing that moment to enter the inner sanctum. She looked awful. The talk she'd had with Clay must have really drained her – Desmond couldn't recall ever seeing her so downcast before. He knew it wasn't his fault, but at the same time… he couldn't help but feel bad for her. He wanted to reach out, to pull her aside for a moment to ask if she was alright... but as she walked by she ignored him. Clay she _especially_ didn't pay any attention to – but by the way the blond had folded his arms across his chest again Desmond had the sneaking suspicion that that was fine with him either way.

Desmond exhaled slowly, clenching his hands by his sides and then relaxing them, allowing himself to focus on that to hopefully redirect his attention from the growingly infuriating matter before him. He didn't know why Rebecca was being so constantly uptight about this. The sooner she could accept what had happened, the better. Their group was already close to breaking point – no one needed any more reason to go off at each other's throats. Not when there were far greater matters to attend to, after all.

Shaun seemed to sense the tension in the atmosphere and he cast a curious glance at the three, looking like he was about to comment when Rebecca cut him off again.

"What'd you need the van for, anyways?"

Shaun cleared his throat.

"Well believe it or not we're running a bit low on food and various other supplies. Now unless you want us to starve to death down here I think it'd be only fair if you allowed me to—"

"Fine. But if you get me anything that's not vegetarian I'll kill you."

Shaun blanched somewhat and he cleared his throat again.

"Wouldn't dream of it." He looked back up at Desmond and Clay. "And while we're on the subject... there's something I have to show the two of you. Mark, in particular."

The men in question paused, casting quick glances at each other as Shaun lowered his voice, his blue eyes turning downcast and sombre. He motioned to his computer, and they followed him as he sat down. Rebecca had also craned her neck, her curiosity getting the better of her as the three leant over Shaun's shoulder to watch the man pull up what looked like an audio feed.

"Just took this off the radio I had set up down there in my room," Shaun began, sounding oddly quiet as he clicked the mouse and sat back. "Get a load of this." The file played, and a woman's voice blared over the speakers, her words interrupted every so often by brief crackles of static.

" _The search for Mark Landers, a patient at the county hospital who went missing recently, is continuing after police remain calling for leads from the public eye on those responsible for his disappearance. It is still believed that he was aided out of the facility by those who had originally claimed to be family friends_ — _"_

Rebecca's mouth dropped.

" _What_ _?!"_ She hissed. "He didn't escape!"

"It gets better," Shaun mused grimly.

"— _The suspects are described to be a middle aged Caucasian man with grey hair and blue eyes, medium build and standing at approximately six feet tall. His accomplice is a brown haired and brown eyed Caucasian male aged between twenty two and twenty five, with medium build and the same height. Police are urging any witnesses to come forth. Authorities outside the local district have also been informed of this investigation, and they implore the citizens to work with the departments on this serious matter."_

Shaun stopped the file, and he turned his head to glance at the two men standing behind him, frozen in place.

"I think we all know what this means," he murmured. Desmond couldn't speak. As he turned his head to look at Clay he saw that an empty look had settled within his eyes, all emotion seeming to have been drained from him in those few minutes.

"Shit…" He whispered.

"Authorities outside the local district…?" Rebecca echoed. Shaun nodded.

"No guesses as to who that would be."

There was no doubt about it. Abstergo were in on this one.

"What do we do?" Desmond asked timidly - not caring at the moment for how frightened he sounded. He was fucking terrified. He knew that it wouldn't take Abstergo long to eventually catch up to them, but to have done so already - not to mention making it in the _news_... he wondered how much longer it would be until they turned up directly on their doorstep.

"The only thing we _can_ do until we manage to get at whatever's behind that gate I'm afraid," Shaun sighed, leaning back in his seat and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. "Keep acting like nothing's changed to compromise us. I just thought I should let you all know about this now sooner than later."

He didn't get a reply, everyone instead settling for locking their gazes on one another, as if somehow hoping that they might be able to reach an unspoken agreement about what to do. It didn't work. Shaun eventually grumbled in agitation and stood from his seat.

"Speaking of getting back to work, I took the liberty of examining that little artefact you discovered here yesterday," he continued, raising his voice to indicate the much-needed change in conversation. "As far as I could tell, they're... well... I suppose they're batteries, really. You used one on your way in and that bridge moved, didn't it?"

Both Desmond and Clay nodded, whilst Shaun idly stroked his chin. He fell silent again for a moment, evidently contemplating something in his mind.

"I was planning on surveying the area after I get back from the supply run. Shed some light to see if there are any more which we need to find."

"If we need to find any more they won't be here," Clay interjected, clearing his throat lightly to draw everyone's attention on him. "Since when has anything ever been that easy?"

"Unfortunately never," Shaun agreed, giving a heavy sigh. "Still can't hurt to double check though."

"I was running some more tests on the power supply before turning in last night," Rebecca tapped away at her keyboard, her eyes darting back and forth across her screen. "Results just came back through. We're good to last us another week or so."

"I thought you said we'd have longer than that?" Desmond inched forwards closer. Rebecca looked at him.

"Things change. Those batteries, or that one at least, only provided a momentary boost to the temple's power grid. We're going to have to feed it regularly."

"But let's just focus on one thing at a time please," Shaun added quickly, seeing Desmond about to groan and grip his head in frustration. "We'll talk more about it later on. For now let's get started for the day... I'm going to head out to get some food for us - I'll be back shortly. Whenever you're ready, Desmond," he finished as he fished the van's keys out of his pockets, nodding his head to the side to indicate the animus. He then turned his back and jogged towards the tunnel which the group had used to enter the temple the day before. Rebecca fell silent, apparently not wanting to acknowledge the two men left standing near her. They hardly noticed, though. Desmond remained standing where he was, Clay casting another quick glance in the brunet's direction. It looked like he was about to speak up to say something when the sound of William's voice drew everyone's attention, and the three turned their heads as one to see the man approaching from a crumbling corridor shadowed by the jutting roof of stone above it.

"You're finally awake, good. I don't want any more time wasted. Desmond, get in there." He jerked his head in the direction of the animus. Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"I will in a minute."

William didn't look very impressed with his son's bold disobedience, but before he could respond Desmond had turned around, making to walk towards the bridge behind them which jutted out towards the glowing barrier beyond. William made to step forwards, but Rebecca cut him off.

"Bill, there's something you should take a look at..."

As she distracted him with the recording of the news that Shaun had just shown them, Desmond used the opportunity to continue his lonesome march forwards. Clay watched him carefully, as if uncertain of whether to follow or not. He appeared hesitant for a moment, but then he eventually sighed – following suit though being careful to keep a distance. He'd spent enough time in Desmond's head for that brief week or so to know when Desmond needed a few feet clear between himself and the person next to him.

"What are you doing?" He hissed quietly, so the others wouldn't hear. It was doubtful they could anyway, considering they were halfway across the bridge already. Desmond kept walking.

"Trying to put it off as much as possible," he answered. He stopped in his tracks. He'd reached his destination. This was the first time he'd actually paid attention to the barrier before him – and Desmond felt his eyes widening as he tilted his head back, taking it all in. It stretched from the very ceiling of the monolithic space, and a triangular sigil was carved into its very surface – not unlike the sigil that Ezio had marked upon the wall near the sanctuary entrance in the Auditore villa where Desmond and the others had resided prior to leaving Italy.

He reached out a hand, slowly, cautiously – pressing his fingers against the engraved surface of the barrier. It felt like it was made of glass, cool and transparent to the touch. But it was strong. Very strong. He had the suspicion that it would be able to survive a missile blast without so much as a dent marring its surface.

Beyond, he could see a lone pedestal lying on an outstretched platform. A heavy sense of unease settled over him, and he removed his hand.

Clay continued to stand behind him, watching his every move. He didn't know what Desmond was doing, but one thing was for certain… he too felt that same foreboding sense that whatever it was that lay beyond that gate could only cause more harm than good. He reached out, placing a hand on Desmond's shoulder. His voice sounded dry when he spoke.

"Come on."

Desmond blinked, stirring as if he was being dragged out of a memory. When he turned his head to focus on Clay, his eyes were far away… unseeing… he groaned, gripping his head faintly. He felt sick. Something moved and it could have been someone holding him, rushing to his aid… but all he heard was a low voice, speaking to him questioningly. The man in the brown coat and hat arched an eyebrow.

"Sir?"

The voices swam in and out of his ears, his vision doing likewise before his eyes. He felt like he was going to throw up. The woman's voice grew louder, louder… until it was all he could hear. All he could think. All he could feel.

" _You must… find… the key…"_

He felt his eyes slip closed, darkness threatening to consume him.

"Here we go again…"

He collapsed, falling into unconsciousness.


	8. Chapter 8

When he woke up, it was not to the cavernous black of the temple around him. It was to a familiar white room, one that made him groan and grip his head as if he was forming a headache all over again.

_I'm back in the animus?!_

He heard a voice over the system's speaker, identifying it as Rebecca's.

" _Desmond?"_

Another voice cut in, though noticeably not as concerned as Rebecca's had been.

" _Do you hear us?"_ That was his father.

He groaned again.

"Yeah… what happened?" He honestly didn't know. One minute he'd been on that bridge… and the next… he'd woken up in here. He felt uneasy. Uncomfortably so.

" _The temple triggered a bleeding effect. You collapsed and entered into a fugue state,"_ his father explained. Desmond felt a vein twitch in his forehead, and he willed himself to calm down.

"So naturally you dropped me into the animus instead of, I dunno, making sure I was ok?" He wasn't successful in hiding the irritation in his voice. That was just like his father.

" _You weren't in any danger. Besides, the temple appeared to be communicating with you, and I didn't want to risk severing the connection. At least not until we knew what it wanted."_

"Right. Of course." Desmond scoffed. This was unbelievable.

" _Son, I—"_

"No, it's fine. I get it. And I know what I'm looking for, by the way. It's a key. Just... no idea where it is, though," he interrupted, pausing for a moment as his father's words about the bleeding effect finally registered… and the memories prior to his collapse came flooding back. That sense of unease in his stomach only grew. "Guess that's why she triggered the bleeding effect…"

" _She?"_

"Juno, dad. She's… talking to me." His voice was bitter when he answered. He knew it was her. He would recognise that voice anywhere, and the feeling of dread, of utmost hostility that accompanied it. There was a brief silence, and he half wondered if his father had just upped and left when another voice spoke up on the other side of the line.

Desmond found himself relaxing almost immediately – it was Clay.

" _Did she say anything else?"_ The blond sounded cautious, anxious even.

"No. Just told me to find a key of some kind."

There was another brief silence.

" _I don't trust her."_

Desmond smiled grimly.

"I don't either."

" _I'm going to be watching everything on the monitors with Shaun and Rebecca, like I told you earlier. After three hours we're going to pull you out. If you need to leave before then, don't put it off. Just do it."_

Desmond sighed, wanting nothing better than to be pulled out already. He nodded.

"Thanks."

Yet another silence followed, and Desmond got the distinct impression that Clay was trying to think of something else to say to him. Sure enough, less than a few seconds later the man spoke up again, his voice quiet – as if he was trying to remain out of ear shot of the others.

" _Good luck."_

Desmond's smile widened ever so faintly, even as the line went dead and he was left to face the simulated world as the memory loaded and formed before his very eyes.

* * *

Clay was silent as he stood there watching the monitors, his eyes roaming from screen to screen as Desmond worked through the memories fed to him from the animus. It wasn't Ezio nor Altaïr this time – rather it was a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties; prim, proper, British accent. By the style of his clothing and his English brogue he was a Londoner. The time period looked to be around 18th century, too.

Someone uttered the man's name on the screen, the Englishman nodding politely to whoever had called out to him.

He was known as Haytham Kenway, apparently.

He frowned, Clay's gaze turning contemplative. He'd long since retreated into his own thoughts – trying to make sense of Juno's reasoning to drag Desmond into a forced bleeding effect… wondering why the hell she was so damn eager for him to be _here_ of all places. Here and now. It was no coincidence that this key was needed to open the gate that lay before them… but what was _beyond_ it was anyone's guess. That pedestal certainly didn't bode well for anyone, any damn fool could see that.

At one point in time Clay would have said that he'd seen everything… what had been… what will be… but considering the fact that Juno was a master manipulator he couldn't trust the visions he had been shown when he was on the brink of madness in Abstergo. Those visions had all but turned blurry, unclear in his mind anyway whenever he tried to recall them. He didn't remember any of it. Personally, he was thankful for that. They'd only driven him to suicide after all, and as it was his mind was still reeling enough as it was with Desmond collapsing on him without the added weight of _those_ memories kicking in. Desmond would have hit the ground - and hardly, too - if Clay hadn't caught him and steadied him upright, having no choice but to call out to the others present to help move him towards the animus on William's frantic command.

Doing his best to distract himself from those unwelcome thoughts he glanced back at Desmond, idly watching the brunet from the corner of his eye as the man lay reclined back on the animus, his eyes fluttering every so often under their closed lids.

He didn't envy Desmond being in that thing. If it was up to him the man wouldn't be in there at all – as Subject 16, Clay knew better than anyone the dangers of that machine. Even more so than what William and the others knew, or even Abstergo themselves for that matter. Just _looking_ at it made him fight the urge to curl his fingers into fists by his sides.

He tore his gaze away and looked at Shaun.

"How long's he been in there?"

The historian lifted his head from his computer, the man working on typing up a database entry by the looks of things.

"Almost two hours now."

Clay nodded, glancing back at the video feed.

Desmond – or Haytham, he should say – had just ridden into a snow-capped town on the Frontier outside Boston. He heard Haytham's contact introduce the village as Lexington. Clay arched an eyebrow as he watched; Charles Lee was certainly an influential man of the time, that much couldn't be denied. He'd had quite a military background too, if he remembered his history correctly. The fact that Desmond's ancestor knew him personally was just as intriguing, Haytham clapping the man on the back as he spoke to him.

Charles Lee was perhaps one of the least likely candidates for a member of the assassin Brotherhood, but Clay let that slide. It wasn't his ancestor, after all. He didn't have to care. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was… off… about this whole scenario. The man seemed too… well…

Orderly.

In fact both of them did – Lee and Haytham. Clay's suspicions continued to mount, but he pushed them from his brain. What _was_ important was Desmond finding that key that Juno had apparently warned him of, not debating the possibility of Templars being mixed into the family tree. Still though, it wouldn't be the first time. Desmond was a descendant of Altaïr after all and his wife, Maria Thorpe, had been a Templar. Quite a good one too, if Robert de Sablé had deemed her worthy enough to impersonate him in Jerusalem.

But again, this was not the time nor the place. Clay stepped away from the monitors for a moment, sighing heavily and rubbing his hands over his eyes. He was feeling tired.

"Where did Bill go?" Rebecca asked as she lifted her head, the woman glancing around after having sent off an email to the rest of the group. Shaun and Clay focused their attention on her before looking back at one another.

"I'm here," William called out, the man now approaching from one of the side-passages. He'd been wandering the halls for the entire time that Desmond had been inside the animus, Clay had noted. He frowned. He didn't know what the hell William was doing back there, and frankly he didn't want to know either.

So he was rather surprised when William lifted his head and locked eyes on him, and motioned for him to follow.

"Mark – a word, if I may?"

Clay froze, feeling the stares of the others centred solely on him as he was called out. He cleared his throat quietly, steeling himself for whatever it was that was about to follow, and he nodded as he stepped forwards.

"What's wrong?" His voice sounded unusually quiet to his own ears as William led him down the darkened hallway.

"Nothing, I just wanted to speak to you in private." William turned his head, and he managed a faint smile upon his bearded lips. Clay almost arched an eyebrow at that – the day William Miles smiled was the day that hell had surely frozen over.

"What about?"

William cleared his throat lightly, guiding the younger man in to the chamber that he had been approaching. There was nothing inside, just a few cracked piles of rubble.

"How are you holding up?"

Clay blinked.

"... I'm sorry?" He didn't know how else to respond. William had apparently expected a response like this and he leant his back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He started again.

"I understand things might still be a bit rocky around here, having just woken up from that coma after all."

Clay coughed faintly as he tried to word an appropriate response. He didn't know what the hell William was playing at, but he had the strong suspicion that his mentor was fishing for words himself; he was avoiding the main topic of their discussion on purpose, at least for a little bit longer. Clay didn't know what made him more uncomfortable at this point in time.

"I'm... fine," he finally managed, his brows creased as he feigned a careful look of concentration. "Still trying to come to terms with whatever it is this 'Juno' wants but I'll manage."

William seemed pleased by this response.

"I don't think anyone will be able to fully come to terms with it," he sighed again. "The will of the gods is unknowable. And centuries ago these people who came before _were_ considered as gods."

Clay stared at him.

"Do you have a point, Bill?"

William gave a dry chuckle.

"No, not really."

There was a prolonged silence, one that quickly verged onto the awkward side of things as Clay steadily grew more uneasy by the second. He was about to clear his throat to start mentioning to William that he'd better get back to the others when he was interrupted by the man himself who'd beaten him to it.

"It's about Desmond," William continued, looking just as defeated as he sounded. Clay froze again.

"What about him?" He found himself asking, rather cautiously. William sighed, sitting himself down on one of the cracked pillars on the ground. He clasped his hands tightly over his lap, and he lifted his head to look Clay directly in the eyes. There was an unusually… uncertain… expression in his gaze. Almost as if he was doubting himself.

Clay almost doubled over. Before he could have any time to come to terms with what he'd just seen, William spoke up again.

"Am I… doing right by him?"

There was a brief silence, Clay blinking a few times. His anxiety slipped away and it was replaced with the urge to elicit a sharp groan.

 _Really?!_ The last thing he wanted on the planet was to be stuck alone with William-fucking-Miles asking for life advice on how to treat his own damn son properly. It was enough to make Clay's teeth grit together. He tried to reign in the hostility though. It wouldn't do either of them any good.

"You want my honest opinion?" It was so hard, so very hard to keep his voice level. William nodded, crossing his arms over his chest – looking every bit the weary, middle-aged man that he was. It was pathetic.

"You're pushing him too hard. He's doing his best, Bill."

William scoffed faintly at that.

"How did I know you'd say that?"

"Then why did you bother asking me?" Clay challenged, arching an eyebrow. His tone sounded slightly more irritated now. William apparently noticed it too, if the faint narrowing of his eyes was anything to go by. However he let it slide.

"If he isn't pushed to do things, he never gets them done at all," he snapped, but even as he said those words his tone softened, William now running a hand over his face. He appeared tired. Conflicted. "But… you're right."

Clay blinked.

Had he heard that correctly?

Before he could have time to even register those words properly William continued, the man dropping his gaze to the floor.

"I know I've done a shit job at raising him. Hell, he knows it too. Otherwise he wouldn't have run off like that when he did…"

Clay shifted uncomfortably where he stood. He really didn't want to listen to this right now.

"What I'm trying to say, Mark, is that I appreciate how supportive you're being with him. Especially about the animus. I would have forced him to be in there for longer than three hours at a time. I'd have become another Vidic and Jesus, no one wants that… I've sent too many young assassins to their doom. Lucy, for example. Clay. All of them. And now Desmond."

Clay felt his throat tighten when he was mentioned by name, and for not the first time he was glad that the body he was in was not his own. For a moment he remained silent, not wanting to respond in any way. But apparently silence was all that William required, for the man then sat up and strode past the blond after dusting himself off.

He clapped him on the back of the shoulder, smiling sadly at him.

"I'm glad you woke out of that coma, Mark. I'd hated to have lost another one." And with that, he exited the chamber room, leaving Clay standing there by himself.

He was motionless for the longest time, so many thoughts rushing through his head that he didn't even know what to do with them. In the end, his emotions decided for him. He grit his teeth, swinging his fist back and punching the temple wall as hard as he could. His skin split and his knuckles bled, but the pain that spiked through his arm was nothing. He'd suffered worse.

_For fuck's sake…_

He wished William hadn't called him in here, because he'd just proven how pathetic he _really_ was. He wasn't even man enough to outright say that he was _worried_ for his own son! No, instead he did what he did best – pile on the bullshit about how Desmond should keep working himself to the verge of exhaustion simply because it 'got results'.

Sure, his words may have proven otherwise in the end, but Clay had had his fair share of disappointment in life surrounding his own father to know that William was no better.

Cause and effect. That was all that mattered. Screw personal wellbeing and all that.

Clay pulled his hand back, wiping his bloody fingers on his jacket. If anything, this only made him even more determined to ensure Desmond's safety down here. Because if William wasn't willing to care for his own son, then Desmond would end up heading down the same path that Clay had taken prior to checking out.

And that was one thing he didn't want above all else.

Steeling himself, he walked out of the abandoned temple room, aiming to head back out to the main sanctum with the others to tell Rebecca to begin pulling Desmond out of the animus. He hadn't even been in there for the full three hours yet, but that didn't matter. He needed a break, and he was going to have one right now.

* * *

When Desmond woke up, the first thing he did was groan.

The second thing was sit up, gripping his head as his brain tried to process the sudden change of input – being dragged from the virtual world of the animus back to the modern day present.

"Time's up already?" He managed out through gritted teeth, rubbing his forehead to get his thoughts back in motion.

 _Focus on the here and now, Desmond_ , he reminded himself. He could still see the Redcoats marching past in the corners of his vision.

"We pulled you out a bit early, but honestly I'm glad we did. You're seeing ghosts again, aren't you?"

Desmond sighed, nodding at Clay's inquiry. He wasn't surprised that the blond knew exactly what was going on with him right now. He blinked, opening his eyes and keeping them open for a good five seconds or so, sighing in relief when the ghostly visions soon faded to leave nothing but the temple before his sight.

"You did good today, Desmond," Rebecca spoke up from nearby, the technician already working to save the video feed to her computer.

"I'd say we also have a clearer idea about what this key is we're looking for, too," Shaun added, the historian bringing up an image of the amulet that Haytham had taken off of the man he had killed in the opera house. Desmond nodded, not needing to glance at the image on the screen when Shaun turned it to show him. He could still remember every inch of it, every minor detail imprinted upon its smooth surface. It was First Civilisation in origin, that much was unquestionable. It was so blatantly obvious… from what it was made of (it was like metal, but much smoother… more _solid_ ) down to the curious etchings upon its surface – strange glyphs not unlike those that currently adorned the temple walls around them.

His fingers twitched, curling into his palm subconsciously, as if he was making to hold it safely within his hand before realising that he was not in possession of it.

"It's about time," came William's voice from nearby, and Desmond had to resist the urge to clench his jaw as he wearily lifted his head to see his father approach from the bridge. He'd evidently been studying the gate.

"Now we know what it looks like you can take a five minute break and head back in there."

Desmond felt his jaw drop.

"Five minute break?!" He echoed. He was about to tell his father _exactly_ what he thought about that when Clay stepped forward, Desmond frowning suspiciously when he saw the blond share a look with the man and William promptly cleared his throat.

"Fine. Have a longer one then. But I expect you to be back in there before the end of the day." Then the man turned on his heel, walking back off towards the bridge. The remaining four exchanged looks – Rebecca's, Shaun's and Desmond's faces echoing confusion. Clay on the other hand was smiling grimly. He strode over to Desmond.

"You hungry?"

Desmond blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question.

"Uh…"

The more he thought about it though, the more he realised that yes, he was actually. His stomach gave a tell-tale gurgle.

"Yeah."

Clay nodded, making to say something when he was cut off by Shaun.

"Good, so am I. Haven't had breakfast yet and it's well past lunch time. How about we all have a food break for a bit until you head back in there?"

Desmond nodded, grunting a little with the effort as he stood from the animus, stretching his limbs and getting feeling back into his muscles. Clay walked past him, the blond lowering his voice to a low whisper as Shaun and Rebecca made to grab some food from the groceries bought earlier on when Desmond had first entered his session.

"C'mon." He beckoned for him to follow. Desmond frowned, feeling that same wave of suspicion from earlier flood over him, but he nevertheless followed the blond after he helped himself to a packed sandwich, tossing Clay another one to which the blond effortlessly caught with one hand. Desmond then followed, Clay leading him towards a pair of broken pillars some few feet away from the others, out of earshot but still within sight of the two. Rebecca and Shaun began talking quietly to one another, the pair lounging around by the animus and seemingly not caring that they had been left alone for the time being.

"You mind telling me what's going on?" Desmond asked as soon as they were far enough away. Clay turned around to face him.

"Kinda the point of bringing you over here, isn't it?" He answered, arching an eyebrow. Desmond rolled his eyes, sitting himself down on one of the outstretched pieces of rock.

"Obviously," he muttered, opening the sandwich and biting into it. It was chicken and mayonnaise. He smiled, satisfied, and he took another bite, feeling far too impatient to wait until he'd finished his first mouthful before taking the next.

Clay looked down at his own sandwich for a moment, but he didn't do anything more than that as he evidently tried to think of what to say. Eventually he sighed, taking a bite of his sandwich and sitting down on the broken pillar opposite Desmond.

"So your father spoke to me when you were in the animus…"

Desmond promptly stopped eating and he fixed the blond with a cautious stare. Clay gave a dry smile.

"He's second-guessing how he raised you."

Desmond groaned, rolling his eyes and shovelling some more food into his mouth.

"What'd you tell him?"

"Only that he should lay off you a bit more. No one's going to get any work done around here if he keeps pressuring you."

Desmond swallowed his mouthful, giving Clay an apologetic grimace.

"Thanks…"

Clay waved it off.

"Don't mention it."

There was a brief moment of silence, in which it was broken only by the faintly audible voices of Shaun and Rebecca in the near distance. Desmond watched them for a minute before returning his gaze to the blond.

"Did you guys find anything of interest from my session?" He asked.

Clay paused from where he was about to take another bite of his food.

"Not really, aside from the amulet," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "But I know for a fact that I don't like the look of Haytham or his groupies."

Desmond smiled grimly.

"Me either. Something seems… off."

"Too orderly?" Clay guessed, glancing at the younger man knowingly. Desmond nodded.

"Way too orderly."

"Ten bucks says they're Templars." Clay gave a conspiratorial grin.

Desmond sighed, wolfing down another mouthful of sandwich.

"Honestly at this point I'm willing to believe anything. I mean it's not like it's the first time something fucked up happened to my family tree," he mumbled. Clay leant back a little, eyeing the brunet with an amused expression.

"Maria Thorpe wasn't Grand Master though," he reminded the younger man. Desmond looked at him.

"But Haytham's not—"

Clay smirked.

"If, by some unbelievable coincidence Reginald Birch was Grand Master of the Templars in England, then yes he was. Because Birch sent Haytham off to the Colonies, remember. Plenty of opportunity there to expand their Order under a new leader."

Desmond blinked, mulling this over. Then he groaned.

"For fuck's sake…" He hissed under his breath. Clay nodded.

"You're right, Desmond. Pretty fucked up family tree of yours."

Desmond glared at him.

"Hey, some of that family tree belongs to you as well, y'know!" He grunted indignantly. Clay chuckled.

"Only as far as Ezio goes. We're _distantly_ related, you and I. _Very_ distantly, I might add. Ezio's the only one tying us together. And as far as I could tell, everyone I'd ever been on my side of the 'family' were all assassins. Well, assassins and escaped slaves if Adam was anything to go by."

"You gonna stop smiling or do I have to punch that grin off your face?" Desmond asked coolly. Clay's grin widened and the blond raised his hands in a gesture of defeat, looking rather amused with the entire situation indeed. That was when his words registered though, and Desmond paused.

"Wait... did you say Adam?"

Clay nodded. Desmond was hit by another violent wave of suspicion.

"You don't mean..."

"Adam and Eve. One and the same."

Desmond saw the look in Clay's eyes - his expression was deadly serious. He felt his jaw drop.

"Holy _shit_..."

Clay chuckled again.

"Probably why Juno had it out for me before she got to you. 'Hey look, it's a descendant of that meddling child who stole my Apple of Eden way back when I was a tyrannical dictator of this good and green Earth. Better ensure I make his life a living hell just because.'"

Desmond remained at a loss for words, staring at him until he presently sighed, his expression softening and a faint chuckle eliciting from his throat. Another silence resumed over the pair, and after a moment Desmond stood from his seat. He dusted himself off, reaching down and picking up the remainder of his sandwich and stuffing the rest into his mouth. There was no use in wasting food when the entire group would likely have to be on rations for a while.

"I'm going back into the animus," he announced as he turned around and made to leave.

"Already?"

Desmond looked over his shoulder at Clay, the blond still seated down. He nodded.

"That key isn't going to find itself." He didn't expect Clay to answer him, so he wasn't surprised when the blond didn't. He did however stand up himself, and he fell into step beside the brunet as the pair made their way back to the others.

As they drew nearer, both Shaun and Rebecca lifted their heads and looked at them as they approached.

"I'm just going over the video feed. Should be ready to hook you up again in about five minutes or so," Rebecca announced, the technician turning back to her computer. Desmond nodded, shoving his hands idly into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Take your time."

Shaun leant back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head.

"I've been trying to run a search on that amulet that Haytham came into possession of to see if there was any other mention in our sources of a similar artefact. You'll be pleased to know that so far, everything points to it being one of a kind, unlike the Apple. So there's less of a chance of the Templars getting to it before we do," the Brit announced. Desmond nodded again, having guessed as much himself.

After all, the way that Juno had urged him to seek it with the amount of urgency that she had… it certainly seemed like it was something rare, something special to her. She spoke of the Apples like they were nothing, she and Minerva. And that made sense – seeing as there were so many of those that the First Civilisation had made. They could easily be replaced.

This key though… that was something that obviously _couldn't_.

"Of course it means we're still under a lot of pressure with the end of the world approaching in two months, but let's just take one thing at a time here," Rebecca added cheerily. Desmond gave a weak smile, knowing his father would have a thing or two to say against that, if he were here. As it was he could see the man pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of the glowing gate beyond the bridge.

"Don't worry, Desmond. Your father will come around."

Desmond blinked, being dragged back to the conversation at hand when Rebecca spoke up again. He offered her another weak smile, nodding and stretching his arms idly over his head whilst he waited for the woman to finish with her check of the animus. Clay meanwhile had walked over to the computers, the blond's eyes running over the feed of Desmond's last session.

Seeing nothing else to do, Desmond strode up to him, looking over his shoulder at the video.

"It's weird seeing it from a third-person perspective."

Clay gave a dry smile, eyeing the brunet with a sidewards glance.

"It's weird seeing a time period later than the 16th century," he added. Desmond elicited a faint chuckle.

"I'll bet."

"Yes well, when the two of you have quite finished yammering on away over there I have something that might interest you."

Clay and Desmond turned to face Shaun, the historian having spoken up again. His bespectacled eyes were focused on the screen in front of his face.

"I've found another power source."

The two exchanged glances.

"Already?" Desmond asked, somewhat cautiously. A contemplative expression entered Clay's eyes. Shaun nodded.

"I'm still fine-tuning the last details on its whereabouts, but give it another hour or so and I'll be able to tell you – with a bit of luck – exactly where it is."

"Which is great timing. Desmond, Baby's all ready to go if you are," Rebecca added, the woman taking her usual spot in the seat next to the animus as she gestured in its direction.

Desmond gave a brief nod, Clay clapping him lightly on the shoulder in some form of encouragement as the brunet approached the animus once again. Sighing heavily, Desmond settled himself down, laying his head back against the headrest. He was just about to close his eyes when Clay spoke up, his tone cheerful.

"Remember, Des. You owe me ten bucks."

Desmond cracked a tired grin.

"We'll see if you're right about it, first."

The last thing he saw before his world slowly went black was Clay grinning and going to join the others at the computers.

* * *

He didn't know how long he had spent in the animus for his second session, but what he _did_ know was that when he opened his eyes, Clay was standing before him – wide grin and all – and holding his hand out, motioning with his fingers for Desmond to place some money in his palm.

"Ten bucks, Desmond. Called it," the blond announced with a snicker. Desmond groaned, rubbing his brow as he sat up, waiting for his vision to clear.

"Seriously, Clay? Fuck you." Desmond found himself grumbling under his breath, being sure to be quiet enough about it so as to not let the others hear him. He felt sick. He could still hear the words echo in his head – Haytham's bold announcement to the men gathered before him as he placed the gilded red and white ring upon Charles Lee's finger.

" _You are a Templar. May the Father of Understanding guide us."_

The next minute, he'd woken up – feeling an overwhelming sense of foreboding enshroud him. He knew Haytham was a Templar. He'd had this conversation with Clay just before he'd gotten in the animus again after all. It still didn't make the realisation any less harder for him to handle, though.

"Wow…" Rebecca breathed slowly, the raven haired woman re-running the video feed, watching the entire meeting unfold before her eyes yet again. Shaun was also looking at the recording with rapt attention.

"Wow indeed."

Desmond stood from the animus, already beginning to pace back and forth in an agitated fashion.

"Well this just complicates things nicely, doesn't it?" He found himself snapping to no one in particular. The others all glanced at one another.

"Unfortunately, that's true," Shaun agreed, sighing as he rested his arms behind his head, leaning back in his seat. "But at least we know that he kept the amulet and didn't toss it away somewhere. And considering the fact that no one's appeared to have entered this temple except us in the last few centuries or so, I'd say it's safe to assume he never bothered to come back here after his last failed attempt at opening the front door."

Desmond looked up at that, considering the Brit's words. Shaun _did_ have a point.

"We might know what the key looks like but we're no closer to finding it. Desmond you need to keep going."

Desmond turned then, lifting his head at his father's words as William approached. Desmond narrowed his eyes. He knew he should have calmed down – he saw Clay flash him a quick warning glare from the side – but it was easier said than done. His lips curled into a sneer and he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hey he's your ancestor too. Why don't _you_ hop in the animus?"

A stunned silence seemed to echo around the vast temple, the silence broken only by William meeting Desmond's glare and giving a sneer of his own.

"Really? _That's_ your response? It's like dealing with a six year old," he scoffed. "What is wrong with you, Desmond?"

Desmond's sneer grew upon his lips and he took a step forwards. He ignored Clay reaching out to pull him back, the brunet shoving the blond's hand off his shoulder. His eyes were focused intently on his father's face.

"You wanna know what's wrong?" He asked, voice low. He gave a bitter laugh, throwing his hands up. Even if William didn't want to know, he'd damn well tell him anyway. "I'm sick of being treated like I'm not even here! _Desmond, do this! Desmond, do that!_ Desmond, you'd _better_ figure things out because the sun is gonna turn us all to ash – and I know I was really nice to you, but actually I'm just another Templar plot twist and _yes_ , I would like _very_ much for you to be controlled by a magic space wizard so that you can _MURDER_ me!"

He was panting now, Desmond's words flying from his lips before he could even have any form of control over what he was saying.

"So _there's_ your answer. I'm _SICK_ of being a goddamn pawn!" He took a step forwards, and then another, until he was directly in front of his father. And he didn't stop there.

"I thought it might be different with you… I mean you're my _father_ but turns out you're no better than the _FUCKING TEMPLARS!_ "

William moved before Desmond even had a chance to react. The man's fist came flying down – and it surely would have collided nicely with Desmond's jaw if Clay hadn't reached out to grab the man's wrist, blocking him from punching his own son in the face.

Rebecca stifled a gasp with her hands, Shaun's eyes meanwhile wide beneath his glasses. William whipped his head around, fixing Clay with a demanding expression that clearly stated he wanted the man to explain himself.

Desmond, on the other hand, had frozen where he stood. His eyes were wide as he gazed at the blond, unable to do anything else except simply stare. His mind felt like it had gone numb. Clay avoided his eyes, the man simply holding onto William's wrist, his blue eyes boring coolly into William's own.

"That's enough." He spoke up quietly. His voice was hard.

William glared angrily at him.

"I beg your pardon, Mark?" He hissed. Clay's eyes narrowed.

"You heard."

There was another moment of silence, the tension in the air being so palpable it could have been cut with a knife. A myriad of emotions played over William's face – anger, mostly – but eventually he conceded, yanking his arm free from Clay's grip and turning around. He strode off, the rage still simmering within his eyes.

Desmond remained standing there, his eyes wide.

"Right… that was unusual…" Shaun made to clear his throat, the historian offering a faint laugh as if in some attempt to break up the dark mood which had descended upon the group. "Well I'm just going to pretend that this never happened and get back to bringing everyone up to speed on where we stand…"

Clay turned around at that, the blond having finally torn his gaze away from William. He glanced at Desmond, offering a faint smile before striding away from him, focusing his attention on Shaun as he spoke.

Desmond finally found it within himself to move again, the brunet shaking himself out of the shock that had taken hold of him, and it was with some deal of effort that he managed to look at Shaun. His head was still spinning. He hadn't seen his father's fist coming, and even more than that he wouldn't have expected Clay to step in the way he had. His eyes returned to the blond, his expression simply stunned. Shaun resumed speaking.

"You'll be happy to hear there's actually good news for once."

Desmond roused himself, noticing that Shaun was looking directly at him as he spoke. He cleared his throat.

"Yeah?"

"The power source I mentioned earlier is relatively close by. Up for a trip to Manhattan?" Shaun asked, clapping his hands and raising an eyebrow behind his glasses. Rebecca glanced at him.

"Is it safe to leave? Abstergo's gotta be looking for us," she interjected, a quiet urgency in her words. What she left unsaid though, everyone was easily able to guess. No one had forgotten about the news report Abstergo had filed on the radio. Shaun looked at her.

"Obviously it's not _safe_ … we can't exactly sit around here hoping to get lucky though, can we? We need that power source. Besides… I'm sure you can cook up some way to hide our movements."

"Even if she could, we can't leave right now." Everyone turned to look at Clay, who had chosen that moment to speak up again. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His brows were creased in concentration. "It's still too soon. We'll have to wait until the cover of night… then we could make it out there by, say, morning… that'd give us an entire twelve hours or so of breathing room."

Shaun rubbed his chin idly with his hand, the Brit contemplating Clay's words. He nodded.

"Fair point."

Rebecca turned around in her seat, her eyes resting on everyone present as she spoke.

"Regardless of when we head out the Templars still have access to all kinds of satellites and camera systems – we'll need to find a way to mask our digital signature," she sighed. "I could probably camouflage the van too, but… there's not much I can do for _us_."

"We'll worry about it when we head out there. For now we should start going over these tapes." Shaun nodded to the computer monitors, the recordings of Desmond's session highlighted on the screen.

"What about Bill?" Rebecca's words were so quiet that it took everyone present a moment to realise what she'd said. But as soon as they did, the mood noticeably darkened. Desmond fell silent, not wanting to think about anything to do with his father at this current moment in time. Out of the corner of his eyes he caught Clay casting a quick glance at him.

"We'll tell Bill as soon as he's had a moment," Shaun answered simply. "I suggest you go and get some rest, Desmond. No doubt we'll be leaving in a few hours. It's almost evening out there right now."

Desmond took a seat down on one of the pillars of rubble nearby.

"I'll wait here." He wasn't feeling particularly tired. Besides, his brain was swimming with too many thoughts right now for him to even consider getting some rest. Shaun studied him for a moment, but he soon shrugged and turned back to his work, apparently accepting that as reasonable. Rebecca followed suit, the technician going through the video feed. Clay didn't say anything, but Desmond sensed the man's eyes on him again, as if silently asking him why he wasn't going to get any rest. But soon he too walked off, and Desmond heard him ask Shaun quietly if he needed any help.

So with that, he bowed his head and rubbed his eyes.

Wanting to distract himself, he ran over his session in his mind, putting himself in Haytham's shoes as he recalled his ancestor's steps; obtaining the amulet, travelling to America, trying to earn the trust of the Mohawk tribes… finding the entrance to the Grand Temple where Desmond and the others were now working, trying to find some clue as to the amulet's whereabouts…

He was so invested in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed the time – and he was dragged out of his mind by a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He started, blinking and looking up to find himself staring at Clay.

"What is it?" He croaked, his voice somewhat hoarse from lack of use. How long had he been sitting here? It only felt like a few minutes. But as he darted his eyes around, seeing Rebecca, Shaun and his father moving around, it occurred to him then that perhaps it had been much, much longer.

"We're getting ready to leave," Clay answered him, the man's tone clipped and short. He removed his hand and motioned for Desmond to follow. He did so, the brunet sighing as he stretched and stood from the pillar he had been resting against.

"Manhattan, yeah?" He asked – speaking aloud to no one in particular. Shaun nodded.

"Welcome back Desmond. Yes. Manhattan. So get ready to leave, we have no time to waste."

"Obviously," Desmond muttered under his breath. He reached down to grab his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder. He then lifted his hands behind his head, pulling his hood down over his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for the task ahead.

A power source. In Manhattan. Hopefully Shaun had pinpointed an exact location because otherwise this would be one very long night indeed. As he prepared to follow the others though, he knew right then and there that a 'very long night' would be a huge understatement.


	9. Chapter 9

"What time is it?"

They'd been driving for an hour, that much Desmond knew. But as he gazed out the window of the van, the thick blanket of night concealed any indication he would have otherwise had about how late they were into the evening. Rebecca glanced at her watch.

"It's just past eleven," she answered. Desmond nodded, looking at his fingers which were laced over his lap. The radio buzzed to life as Shaun changed the channel, hoping to catch some snippet of news. As he fiddled with the controls, Desmond watched his father out the corner of his eye, William sitting in front of him, head bowed and eyes trained intently on the iPad in his hands. He didn't know what his father was looking at and quite frankly he didn't want to know either. As it was he still had trouble fully quelling the anger which threatened to once more burst free from his chest without constraint at their little 'incident' earlier on.

To take his mind off things he looked at Clay, the blond sitting next to him and being oddly silent. It felt unusual not hearing him speak – Desmond had found he'd grown accustomed to the man's little snippets of conversation every so often. A snide remark here, a joke there... he was going to nudge him in the arm to get him to say something when he decided against it last minute, seeing as the man had his eyes closed and his head was leaning back against the headrest. He'd been given one of Desmond's spare hoodies to wear to help cover his face (seeing as both he and Desmond would be wandering around town despite the news report that Abstergo had pitched earlier on in the afternoon), but the hood didn't entirely mask the fact that the blond was clearly sleeping.

It was then that Desmond realised exactly how tired he really looked. He honestly wasn't surprised. This was… what? The first proper rest the man had gotten since he'd camped down in Mark's body? He needed all the shut-eye he could get, at least until he was called to help with the surveillance when Desmond eventually left the van and began this wild hunt for some kind of glowing piece of alien technology. A familiar nagging sensation prickled in the back of his brain, these thoughts ever so helpfully reminding him about the 'issue' regarding the end of the world in a month or two if he didn't hurry up and get that power source tonight, and Desmond tried his hardest now to shove away all unwelcome thoughts that decided to invade his mind concerning that particular subject.

_Focus on the mission, Desmond_.

Yeah, right. Like it was that easy.

The radio blurted to life.

"… _Local utility companies have assured the public that they're completely prepared for the upcoming solar maximum. Disruptions to service are expected to be minimal—"_

Shaun sighed, reaching out again and finally deciding to turn the radio off for good. A heavy silence fell over the group assembled within the van, the newsreader's words ringing through their heads. Eyes darted from one person to the next. Things outside were that bad, were they?

"If only they knew..." Shaun muttered wistfully. Rebecca squeezed the historian's shoulder in a sign of comfort, before leaning down to rifle around through a backpack she had placed at her feet. When she straightened up again she turned around to lock eyes on Desmond, and he outstretched his hand as she dropped two objects within his palm: one a thin, circular black disc, and the other a portable Bluetooth headset. He arched an eyebrow out of a mixture of both amusement and curiosity, and he met her gaze.

"What's this?"

Rebecca turned to face the road again.

"A remote-operated camera. It'll provide us with a feed while you're on mission. This will let us talk to each other," she explained, motioning first to the disc, and then the headset. Desmond looked back down at the objects in his palm again, shrugging his shoulders and dropping the camera into the pockets of his hoodie before fastening the headset to his ear. He noticed that Clay was awake now, the blond accepting his own camera and Bluetooth from Rebecca when the technician passed them to him after rifling through her backpack again.

Neither of them said a word to each other, and Desmond sensed that the disagreement between the two would continue to last for some while.

"Mark, given the circumstances we know that to send both of you out there would likely be a death sentence considering we don't know whether or not Abstergo are there before we are… but seeing as you're the only one of us who's from Manhattan we're just going to have to take this chance. After all, if anyone knows the town it's you," Shaun spoke up as he looked at Clay through the reflection of the windshield mirror. Desmond saw the blond freeze momentarily, but his expression quickly smoothed out into one of acceptance as the man nodded.

"No problem, I can do that."

Desmond was thankful that the others appeared to be convinced by that, because just looking at him now he knew that Clay found himself in a rather difficult position.

"Have you ever been to Manhattan?" He muttered quietly under his breath. Clay gave a faint chuckle.

"Nope."

Desmond smiled grimly. Perfect.

"I can try to sift through Mark's memories to see if I can find anything useful in there, but it's hard. His brain is basically dead so it's gonna take a lot of work on my end," Clay whispered. Desmond looked at him then, giving a small nod.

"Just do what you have to do."

Before the blond could respond, William cleared his throat.

"We're almost there so listen up. The artefact is in an office penthouse in lower Manhattan. At this time of night direct infiltration is going to get you noticed. I think we're better off having you drop in from above," he announced, looking at his son.

Desmond frowned.

"What do you mean, 'above'?" He queried, his tone laced with suspicion. The only answer he got was a large pack being thrown at him by his father; Desmond identifying the pack as a parachute bag. He stared at it, a hollow feeling numbing its way through his skull as he slowly looked back at his dad.

He couldn't be serious…

Unfortunately the look on William's face proved that he was.

"So far there's been no sign of Abstergo in the city from what we've heard of, so that's _some_ relief. Just get in there as quick as you can, find the artefact, and leave."

Desmond placed the parachute bag carefully on the floor of the van, nestling it safely between his feet so as to stop it from rolling around everywhere. He gazed coolly at his father, unable to stop his lip from curling upwards into a sneer.

"I figured that out for myself, thanks."

William fixed him with a hard look in his eyes, the man clearly about to open his mouth and retort if not for Shaun cutting in.

"Desmond there's a tower which is opposite the apartment building we're focusing on. It should be high enough for you to gain enough altitude to make that landing on the roof. There's a heliport which makes things a lot easier for you."

Desmond looked at the Brit, nodding his thanks.

"If it's ok with the rest of you, just drop us off in the centre of town and we'll start making our way to this tower from there. I'll give Desmond recon from the street so I can check if he's being followed or not. Plus if he runs into trouble I can get him out of that building safely," Clay added. William looked up at that, the older assassin nodding and grunting something affirmative in response.

"Sounds good."

"Just a little heads up - the traffic is bloody awful right now. It's going to take me a while to get there," Shaun spoke up again from the front.

"See what you can do to get us there within the next half hour or so."

Shaun almost balked at William's demand. The historian cast him an annoyed glare from the windscreen mirror.

"I'm not a magician, Bill. Sure we need to get there as soon as we can but I don't want to get us all killed before we can even grab the first power source."

William didn't offer a reply, but it was clear from the look in his eyes that he had meant what he'd said when he'd told Shaun to hurry up. And despite his adamant concerns for everyone's wellbeing, Shaun pressed his foot down a little more on the accelerator, the van gaining noticeable speed along the car-dotted highway. The glare of the headlights was almost overwhelming, and when they had eventually managed to make it within a few metres of the city outskirts, the towering apartments and office blocks which lit up the overcast night sky seemed only to intensify the harsh assault on the eyes.

But Shaun had been right. Despite his best efforts, the traffic remained difficult to navigate through. It had taken him almost an entire hour to find a place to park the van – just outside a park. The neighbourhood was littered with high-rise buildings. It was out in the open, and fully in-sight. Under normal circumstances this would have been too risky – perhaps even a death wish – but seeing as Abstergo were currently not in the direct vicinity thanks to their prior checks, and also because parking in a secluded area would be _exactly_ what the Templars would expect the assassins to do, it seemed the safest location in the entire city.

Desmond stretched his legs as he jumped out of the van, pulling his hood cautiously down over his eyes. The air was frigid and he swung his arms, eager to get some kind of warmth and circulation back into them. The sound of civilisation was a sharp headache to his senses, no doubt partly due to the constant near-silence of the bowels of the Temple they had left behind. Clay followed suit, the blond stepping onto the sidewalk beside him. He attached the headset microphone to his ear and then placed the camera Rebecca had given him inside his hoodie pockets, which he had then proceeded to shove his hands into after in some means to gain a bit of warmth himself. Desmond watched him for a moment, standing there for a minute looking the blond up and down.

"What?" Clay blinked, catching sight of this. Desmond chuckled.

"You know I _do_ expect to get my hoodie back after this?"

Clay smiled.

"We'll see."

Desmond chuckled again at that, but the trailing sound of his laughter quickly died away when he heard movement from behind him. He did his best to ignore the small group of people passing them by, their loud inebriated chatter indicating that they had all had one too many drinks recently. The sound of William's voice drew him back to the matter at hand, Desmond looking at his father as Clay did the same.

"Don't take longer than necessary. Now get going," William said, though his ire was noticeably centred entirely on his son. Desmond didn't answer him, the brunet already stuffing his hands into his pockets as he proceeded to walk briskly down the sidewalk. He heard footsteps beside him and knew that Clay was following.

"The tower should be up ahead about fifteen minutes or so away," Clay murmured quietly to him, his head bowed as he crossed the street with Desmond after the pair had ensured that it was safe to do so.

The buildings rising along either side of them seemed trivial things compared to the vastness of the Temple, but they felt no less dwarfed by the sheer size of the blocks as they pressed onwards. Desmond nodded, digging his hands further into his pockets in a vain effort to keep warm. He wished the air wasn't so cold.

"You starting to remember the place a little more now?" He asked quietly. Another drunken crowd ambled along past them. Clay's lips twitched into a wan smile.

"Nope. I'm just going by what Shaun said."

Desmond allowed himself to give another faint laugh.

"Go figure."

Clay grinned a little wider at that comment, but soon he lapsed back into silence. When Desmond glanced over at him he could see the blond's brows creased in evident concentration. He was about to ask what was on the other man's mind when Clay finally spoke up again before Desmond had a chance to open his mouth.

"I think… I think there's a shortcut. Down that street… maybe…" He pointed towards a street that cut across a sharp right from the path they were walking towards. Desmond arched a brow.

"Really?"

Clay rolled his eyes.

"It heads on for another few yards or so and then takes a left. We'll be saving about five minutes."

Desmond eyed the man with some degree of amusement.

"Thought you said Mark's memories would be difficult to access."

Clay snorted.

"They are. It's like trying to smack a piece of paper against a brick wall repeatedly in the hopes that it'll come down. So shut up and let me navigate before I lose track of what remotely useful shit I've managed to chip away at."

Desmond smiled, chuckling faintly despite himself as he followed, Clay now taking the lead. They were nearing an alleyway, the sounds of laughter and voices growing over the roar of traffic. Clay lifted a hand to his brow, rubbing his forehead as if his efforts were giving him more headaches than answers.

"It's… straight ahead after that… I think…" He groaned faintly.

Desmond looked at the man again, his brows now furrowed in evident concern.

"Hey take it easy…"

"Believe me I am."

They'd approached a park along the righthand side; cars continued to drive noisily past on the roads close by, and people could be seen in the park walking leisurely about for a late night stroll.

"Aha! _There_ we are." Clay sounded triumphant when after approximately fifteen minutes of silence and walking they'd come across what it was they were looking for. He lifted a hand and pointed to a tower outlined before them, a slight distance away. It appeared to be taller than all the rest around it; scaffolding could be seen dotting its windows and walls, and a crane had been positioned along the very top. Its lights were lit.

When he saw the tower against the backdrop of the sky, Desmond felt a slow feeling of dread settle neatly within the pit of his stomach.

"You've got to be kidding me…" He groaned. "They want me to jump off _that_?!"

It was at _least_ 1000 feet tall – that was what it looked like from where they were currently standing. Desmond's hand tightened subconsciously around the strap of his backpack which housed the parachute.

"You whining about it already? If your ancestors could leap off of the tallest buildings in history, then I think you can handle a quick topple off of a tower. And you have a parachute. They didn't." Clay's tone was laced with heavy incredulity.

Desmond bit back the harsh retort that he had wanted to fire at the blond for that comment. He was right. Again. His hand tightened further around his backpack.

"Still doesn't make it any less daunting…" he found himself muttering under his breath. Clay's expression softened slightly at that and he turned back to face the tower, his steps quickening into a slight jog. Desmond matched his pace, jogging alongside him as the two edged ever closer towards their target. They weaved past the throngs of people gathered, the next ten minutes or so spent carefully navigating their way onwards. For all the slow progress they made, Desmond was starting to think that an hour had passed until they finally found themselves at the foot of the tower, eyes gazing skyward towards the building's lit-up crane. He inhaled slowly, held his breath, and then exhaled as he tried to calm the anxiety building up within his body.

"Right, the penthouse is the building behind us," Clay motioned with a jab of his thumb, Desmond nodding absentmindedly. "I'll be waiting in front of it. If someone comes I'll let you know." He went to turn on his microphone. Desmond nodded again, already willing himself to push onwards. His hand came up to the microphone still attached to his ear, and he flicked the small switch along its side as he approached the glass doors which made up the tower's entrance. No lights were on inside, which meant that it was safe to assume that it was closed for the evening.

Which also meant that it would be heavily alarmed if he attempted to smash down the front door.

"I'll need to go around the back and try that way," he murmured aloud.

"Do what you gotta do," came Clay's response from behind him. Desmond could hear footsteps, the blond already taking his leave. He didn't turn to watch the man walk off – instead he continued to wait until a heavy silence seemed to echo around him. Desmond felt oddly solitary then, and he realised that he would have preferred it if the blond had come inside with him. At least he would have had someone to talk to while he no doubt had to climb up half the fucking building just to get to the top.

And Clay proved better company and conversation over the others.

He sighed, pressing into a light jog as he navigated towards the back of the tower, brown eyes searching under his hood for any sight of a door of some kind. He found one, and unsurprisingly it was locked tight. Thankfully he'd acquired some degree of skill in the art of lock picking thanks to Haytham, but as he moved closer to inspect said door, he realised he would have to type in an access code after swiping an ID card.

Cussing under his breath he ruled that one out, and took a step back to assess the situation at hand.

"Can you hear me, Rebecca? Testing. Testing. One, two, three," he spoke into the microphone, pressing the earpiece more firmly against his ear so as to try and hear the technician's response over the faint buzz of traffic from the other side of the tower.

There was a blur of static for a moment until he heard a reply.

" _Yep! Read you just fine. Where are you now?"_

Desmond lifted his gaze to the number pad again.

"I'm at the back of the tower. I found an access point but it's locked tight with a security pad. I need a password and an ID card of some sort."

" _Gotcha. Power up the camera and I'll run diagnostics on the situation and hack you in there."_

Desmond smiled.

"Thanks."

" _In retrospect we probably should have thought of this before sending him out there."_ Desmond rolled his eyes, only half-listening to Shaun's words as he fished around for the portable camera Rebecca had given him earlier. He found it, pressing down on a small button located on its underside, and he stepped back a moment in surprise as the thing buzzed and beeped to life, a small rotor opening on its top as it began to fly up and hover a few metres above his head. He waited a few seconds, Rebecca evidently working on trying to establish a picture. While she did so, he heard William speak up.

" _How are things looking on your end, Mark?"_

There was silence for all of two seconds.

" _Everything's clear so far. The streets are real busy tonight though so it's gonna be a bitch for me to see if there's someone approaching or not,"_ Clay answered. Desmond was unable to hold back the exasperated sigh that escaped him.

" _Cheer up, Desmond. If worst comes to worst you can just leg it out of there and make them give chase. It'll be easier on me to identify them then."_

Desmond sighed again, though this time his lips pulled upwards into a faint smirk.

"Shut up Mark."

He heard snickering in response. He was all set to give a chuckle himself when Rebecca got his attention again.

" _Ok, signal's up. Nice and strong. I'm scanning the security pad now and working on running through some data to it via the camera. I set it up with an electrical frequency which should overwrite anything with what I send out through the computer here. I'll also work on disabling the internal alarm systems so you shouldn't run into any trouble inside."_

" _So in less technical jargon that would be…?"_

" _Shut up Shaun."_

Desmond stamped his feet a little, listening to the light-hearted bickering with mild amusement as he tried to get warm. The temperature felt like it had dropped another ten degrees, and he could feel the shivers wracking his entire body now. He rubbed his hands together, then drew his hoodie tighter around him. The camera buzzed overhead, the drone having inched forwards towards the number pad by the door. A little red light was shining onto its surface from the device, and the screen flashed green momentarily.

He only had to wait another second more, and the keypad beeped in the affirmative, its screen blinking with the welcome sight of 'Access Granted'. He grinned, striding forwards and pulling the door open, slipping deftly inside and using the light of the drone as it followed him to navigate his way to the nearby elevators in the dimly lit lobby.

"Where would I be without you, Rebecca?" He mused. He heard her laugh.

" _Stuck outside in the cold still?"_

He grinned again, pressing the up button on the nearby elevator and standing back as he waited, pleased to see that that was also functioning. When its doors slid to to admit him, he stepped inside – hand poised over the buttons. His eyes widened as he took in the amount of floors he was presented with. There were 94 in total.

_Jesus Christ…_

"Where to?"

" _There's a door leading into a worker's exit on the ninetieth floor,"_ Rebecca announced. _"It's open for direct access to the construction site on top of the building."_ Desmond pressed the corresponding button, feeling somewhat more at ease in knowing that he wouldn't have to climb upwards 90 floors just to get to the roof. Ideally he would have preferred to have taken the elevator all the way to the top, but on their way over here in the van Shaun had announced that some of the floors were closed for renovation, and as such the elevator wasn't able to make the full journey.

Unfortunately this would have to make do.

The elevator's doors closed and soon the lift began to rise, Desmond unable to do anything save for rest his back against the wall and sigh as he rubbed his eyes, closing them and taking a moment to himself to relax. He began to run a song over in his mind – something he'd remembered from his days working at the bar – and he idly tapped his hands against his thighs in time with the beat in his head. A minute had passed, and then two more.

Finally the lift came to a stop. Desmond was only far too eager to get out into the hallway the second the doors had widened enough to let him through.

"Ok I'm here. Where's this worker's exit?"

" _Should be to your left. It's at the end of the hall,"_ Rebecca answered. He nodded, already moving into a swift jog down the hallway, barely taking in the office rooms around him as he raced past. The door quickly came into his sight, and Desmond heaved his weight against it, glad to see that it wasn't locked as the door opened to admit him. He rolled his shoulder, rubbing it briefly to try and get rid of the numb sensation coursing through his bicep.

He continued onwards, the dim corridor around him taking him straight ahead, then to the right, before leading towards another elevator along the new lefthand side. He paused, slowing down in his steps for a minute.

" _Ok the elevator here is the one that's closed for maintenance. If you can get into the shaft above it'll lead you directly towards the construction site above the main tower. Heading through there you can make your way to the crane on the rooftop."_

He considered that, Desmond remaining still where he stood so as to take in the elevator before him. The door was open, and by the looks of things the vent at the top of the lift could easily be removed, allowing access straight up. All he would need to do would be to ensure that he maintain his footing, and hope it would last him until he reached the rooftop. He'd gained much of Ezio's abilities from his time in the animus, but as for practising them out in the field – up until now he hadn't had more than an hours' worth of experience.

_There's a first time for everything_.

He inhaled slowly and then breathed out, loosening his limbs as he flexed his fingers.

"Ok. I'm going up."

He walked into the elevator, raising his hands and pressing his palms flat against the vent in the ceiling. He pushed. He heard a grating sound from the metal, but other than that it didn't budge. He tried again, applying more pressure this time. It gave way only about a centimetre or so before falling back in place. He grit his teeth, preparing to heave upwards once again when he heard Clay speak up over the microphone.

" _Hate to break up the party but there's a car which just pulled up out the front of the penthouse here."_

Desmond promptly froze, and in doing so he could have almost sworn he heard a sharp intake of breath from Shaun and Rebecca.

" _Is it Abstergo?"_ That was William.

" _Hard to tell. There's a lone driver though. Male. That's all I can tell from this light. He hasn't left the car yet… he's just sitting there. I think… yeah he's on his phone now. He's talking to someone."_

Desmond became acutely aware of the fact that his palms were now sweating. He pushed against the grate again – more forcefully this time – and he threw the now freed metal grating away from the vent. He gripped the edges, and making sure he had enough leverage with his feet he pushed himself upwards and through the top of the elevator, grunting with the effort as he clambered and clasped for something to hold onto as his legs followed his torso upwards.

He dusted himself off when he'd finally managed to stand on top of the elevator, and he glanced upwards at the shaft above. There were plenty of rims and jutting wires to use to climb on, which was a relief.

" _He's leaving the car now… shit…"_

Desmond felt his heart race inside his chest.

"What's wrong?" He asked quietly.

" _He's entering the penthouse. Desmond, I think you may have a welcoming party when you eventually get in there… a welcoming party with a gun, I might add."_

Desmond felt his stomach tighten, and he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Clay sounded as scared as he felt.

" _What do we do?!"_ Shaun demanded harshly.

" _We need to not lose our heads. Desmond, you have to get in there. Mark, are you able to intervene in any way?"_ William answered, the man's tone sounding anxious. If not for the gravity of the sudden situation they found themselves in, Desmond would have been unable to believe that his father was capable of displaying such foreign emotion in his voice.

" _I can't out here, there's too many people. I need to wait a while until he gets in the lift, or at least out of sight of everyone on the sidewalk."_

Desmond wasted no time; he jumped up, his fingers catching the first rim jutting out from the shaft. He pushed up with his arms, his legs following suit as he reached out and caught the next jutting piece of metalwork. He began his ascent, all the while willing himself to climb higher, climb faster before it was too late.

"I'm… heading up there… now…" He huffed out.

" _If it's any consolation… he didn't look like he was in a hurry."_

Desmond somehow managed a faint grin despite the fear he felt clinging at his mind. He pulled himself higher.

" _The artefact is on the top floor at any rate. God I hope you can make it in time…"_ Rebecca spoke up lowly.

"Don't worry Rebecca… I will," Desmond replied, almost nearing the top of the shaft now. His limbs had started to ache, but he ignored it. None of that mattered.

" _I can't see him in the lobby anymore. I'm going in. I'll try to keep him distracted as long as I can for you,"_ Clay added. Desmond swallowed the lump in his throat again as he hauled himself up towards the platform near his head, barely taking a moment to catch his breath before pushing open the doors and stumbling out into the open space before him; construction and debris was everywhere, and the frigid air hit him like a freight train as he stepped out of the warmth of the inside. The wind howled through the worksite, sounding ghostly as it moaned through the scattered tubes and pillars of metal and plastic.

"Thanks," he murmured, already taking off into a sprint as he scanned his eyes around the site before him, trying to find something to climb on to reach the next level of scaffolding above. In the end all reason abandoned him, and in his haste he jumped towards the first overhanging ladder he saw. He hoisted himself upwards, glad to see that he'd chosen well as the pile of boxes and other metalwork he clambered onto seemed to form as good a path upwards as any.

" _The elevator's going towards the top floor… looks like he's definitely onto us,"_ came Clay's urgent warning as the man spoke up again. Desmond leapt over a beam, almost crying out as he nearly stumbled and slipped… and a quick look down below informed him that if he'd fallen back any further, his body would be free falling towards the pavement below. His blood pumped through his ears, his heart an echoing crescendo as he clambered onwards, running as fast as he could over the obstructions in his way.

His hands were bleeding and he'd scored a cut in his jeans, but he didn't care. He could almost see the crane now.

_Just a bit further…_

He made a split-second decision and leapt off the platform, reaching out and grasping tightly on the edge of a beam suspended by another crane. He grunted, pulling himself up and ignoring the violent shaking in his limbs, not even wanting to spare a look below at the city he was hovering over on one small hanging rod of metal. It swayed precariously under his movement, and the ropes began to creak.

He jumped off the edge, reaching out once more and gasping as he just managed to grab onto the above platform before the rope holding the bar he'd been standing on frayed and threatened to snap. The bar dropped a few metres, the crane groaning as if in protest.

His mind was a flurry of adrenalin and a numbness which could only be likened to an all-consuming sense of dread. He was left staring wide-eyed at the beam below, gasping in thick rushes of air as he tried to stop his head from spinning.

"Jesus Christ…" He whispered, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign to his own ears.

" _What's wrong?!"_ Clay asked urgently. Desmond shook his head, swallowing thickly and lifting his gaze to lock eyes on the crane now directly in front of him.

"Nothing Cl—Mark… just uh… good timing…" He hoped that neither his father nor the other two had noticed his near slip of Clay's name just then.

" _You're almost there, Desmond,"_ Rebecca spoke up; her voice was level, but it was plain for anyone to see that she was trying her best to remain calm. Desmond sucked in another sharp breath of air, feeling the oxygen spread through his tired lungs and limbs and seeming to strengthen him somewhat, and he dashed towards the crane now directly in his line of sight. He jumped up, reaching out and ignoring the dull ache in his palms as his fingers grabbed onto the metal railings of a ladder standing next to the base of the crane itself, and he proceeded to heave himself upwards as he climbed the rungs, the crane now directly above him through a small hatch at the top of the platform above the ladder.

He pushed himself through, grabbing the sides of the platform around him – by now almost completely out of breath as he stumbled a little towards the base of the crane in front of him. He couldn't afford to worry about it now or get his breath back, as he'd already begun yet another ascent – this time of the crane itself.

The Manhattan skyline rose up to meet him, surrounding him on all sides. But the closer he inched towards it... the more the image before him seemed to swim and lose focus. For a moment he felt as if he had been transported back in time, and he was greeted with ancient buildings, churches, cathedrals, mosques spanning around him… each and every city his ancestors had ever been to bared completely before his sight as he rose like an eagle above them all, preparing to crouch and dive down below, to soar without restraint as the wind took him and made him feel _alive_ …

And then he was brought back to reality as he stopped at the edge of the crane, the Florentine skyline slowly fading before his eyes to be replaced once more with the bright lights of modern day Manhattan. He shook his head, groaning as the Duomo morphed slowly back into the penthouse office block.

_Keep it together, Desmond_ , he thought with gritted teeth. It was then he realised that he was already perched on the end of the crane, as if prepared to make the jump. He didn't know when he'd lowered himself down like that, or even when he'd reached the end of the crane, but it bothered him how instinctively… natural… it felt.

It bothered him a little _too_ much.

A wave of vertigo hit him squarely in the stomach, and he had to grip the edge of the crane tightly with his hands lest he fall off. He wasn't used to this… he didn't think he would _ever_ get used to this, no matter how long he spent in that animus. Nothing experienced in that machine could ever compare with how high he was above the city right now, with nothing to break his fall down below should he slip. He still had his parachute, but he would only have one shot at using it. He couldn't risk that chance.

He was about to speak up, clearing his throat in preparation to do so, when Clay's voice over the microphone made him still, his body tensing.

" _I've run into some trouble… he locked the elevator on his way up. I guess he knew he was being followed. I'll have to take the stairs instead."_

Desmond closed his eyes, trying to force himself to breathe with some degree of normality.

" _How long will it be until you reach the office?"_ William demanded with no small amount of impatience in his voice.

" _Let's put it this way… Desmond will have a nine out of ten chance of seeing him before I do,"_ Clay replied, some of his own impatience bleeding through into his words.

" _Desmond get in there now!"_ William had raised his voice, almost to a yell.

" _Wait! Timing's really important here – too soon or too late and he'll miss the building. Desmond, you're going to have to wait for my signal to open the chute,"_ Rebecca interjected. Desmond nodded, opening his eyes again and focusing on the illuminated heliport below, the office penthouse directly across the street.

If he focused only on that, he found he could think more clearly. His limbs had stopped trembling.

"Just tell me when."

" _I was going to. Jump when you're ready."_

He didn't respond; his legs had already tensed and he'd sprung from the edge of the crane before Rebecca had even finished. His arms stretched out before him, and his stomach fell away from inside him as he fell, his body arcing into a graceful curve as he soared forwards as if an eagle in flight. The wind whistled at his ears, his clothes billowed in the breeze, and the swift drop in altitude as he plunged through the air filled him with such exhilaration, such… awe-filled terror… that he almost smiled. All that prior fear, all that anxiety at falling from that crane... it all melted away in that one moment. _This is what it feels like to do a leap of faith_ , he realised.

" _Now! Open your chute now!"_

He wrenched at the cord around the backpack he wore, and the moment was gone as his parachute billowed out behind him, Desmond grunting a little as the air tugged sharply at his body as he was pulled upwards by the force of it. His stomach flipped inside of him, and he fought the second wave of vertigo as it slapped at his brain once more. He gripped the cords tightly, panting faintly with exertion and the need for oxygen as he sailed slowly down towards the heliport below him.

" _I'm almost there – four more floors to go,"_ Clay spoke up over the microphone.

Desmond landed, grunting again in dulled pain as he hit the rooftop, rolling over as his feet touched the ground to prevent breaking his legs from the impact. He gasped faintly, standing up and slinging the backpack off his shoulders, throwing it to the ground as his parachute sailed away into the air behind him. He gave no mind for it, not even caring in that moment what the pedestrians down below would have to say, and he sprinted towards the rooftop exit which led down into the floors of the building below.

He was pleased that the door was unlocked as he threw it open, and he jumped down the stairs, his feet seeming to fly over them as he moved as fast as he could in his desperation. He had to get there before that mysterious man could take the artefact. He didn't know who this guy was… but what he _did_ know was that he had a strong suspicion that Abstergo had gotten here first.

He only hoped he was wrong.

"I'm in. Which door is it, Rebecca?"He gave no heed to how breathless he sounded as he tore through the next door and straight into the office hallway. He glanced quickly left and right; the corridor was deserted. This was a good sign, but he couldn't trust a hope.

" _Last one on your right. Hurry, Desmond!"_

"I know, I know!" He grit his teeth, making a sharp turn to the right and continuing to sprint downwards towards the last office door. He burst through – he'd had to ram his shoulder against the door to push it with enough force to break the lock – and ignoring the dull pain which shot through his arm yet again, he slowed down just long enough to take in the empty office. He caught his breath, glancing cautiously this way and that.

_I think I made it in time…_

He hadn't heard anything back from Clay, though. And that bothered him. He tried to push it out of his mind and focus on the matter at hand – he saw the artefact. It was rather hard to miss, actually. It was nestled safely away inside a clear glass case atop the pinewood desk by the window which offered a breathtaking view of the surrounding city. He strode forwards, Desmond reaching out a hand to touch the case, his brows creasing as he wondered how he should break it to get the power source out of it. After a moment of deliberation he lifted his elbow, smashing it against the top of the case. He brushed the shattered glass away from his jacket as the case cracked and chipped under the force of the blow, littering the desk and floor with sharp fragments. He then reached in, picking up the artefact and gazing at it for a minute as he studied its etched and carved surface, the object glowing with a familiar blue light just like the last one and thrumming faintly as if it were somehow alive.

"That wasn't so bad…" He found himself muttering, quickly tearing his eyes away and preparing to sling his satchel off his shoulders so he could stow the artefact safely away. It made him feel uneasy.

That was when he heard the footsteps.

"So… you must be Desmond."

He span around, eyes slowly widening as he took a step backwards, Desmond's heart thumping away inside his chest. The artefact remained clutched tightly in his hand.

He hoped he appeared calm outwardly, because everything going through his mind right now was anything but. For one thing, a gun was trained directly at him. For another thing, the man holding the gun at Desmond's head appeared to be older than him, with mousey brown hair and dark eyes which were hard and cold as steel. His face was gaunt, sallow looking – his leather jacket and combat pants and boots doing nothing to hide his slim frame. Despite this, one look at him and Desmond knew that he would not be easy to take on, and any kind of negotiation would be out of the question. He came here to kill, and kill he would if he didn't get his way.

And the final thing which made Desmond freeze, hands slowly raising as he locked eyes on the barrel of the gun, was that Clay still wasn't here. He took another step back. The man took one more forwards.

"Not exactly what I expected," he continued, his thin lips pulling into a menacing smile; cruel just as the tone of his voice, his words rasping thickly from his throat. "But I guess your kind doesn't have many options these days." His smile widened.

Desmond finally found the strength to speak.

"Who are you?" His eyes had narrowed, and he straightened himself up, body tense and alert. If the man was going to kill him, he would not go down without a fight. He only hoped that Clay hadn't met a similar fate.

_Where the hell is he?!_ His eyes quickly roamed to the back of the room, searching the open doorway as if in some vain hopes that he would see the blond come rushing in at any second. The man in front of him snorted – something akin to a laugh, Desmond supposed.

"Ask your father," he drawled, motioning with his gun towards the artefact the brunet was still clutching. "Now give me that."

That was when movement in the corridor outside drew Desmond's attention, the brunet fixing his eyes on the open doorway. Clay entered silently, making no noise at all as he carefully inched closer and closer towards the man training his gun directly at Desmond's head. Desmond quickly drew his eyes back on his attacker, not wanting to give him any reason to suspect that there was someone behind him. But he couldn't entirely mask the strong feeling of relief he felt at knowing that Clay was alright.

His lips slowly pulled into a wan smile.

"I don't think so," he answered quietly, locking his eyes onto those of the man before him. The stranger heaved a sigh, his expression quickly morphing into one of barely suppressed impatience as he took another step forwards. As he did so, Clay followed suit. He raised his arm.

"Look… I'm not supposed to kill you," the man hissed out, eyes narrowed hardly on Desmond as he raised the gun, holding it out menacingly towards the brunet's face, "but the bossman didn't say _anything_ about _fucking you up_ … so you've got the count of—"

He was cut off sharply, the man groaning and stumbling forwards as Clay brought his arm down and elbowed him cleanly in the back of the spine with enough force to knock him off balance. A fist followed suit, and the stranger gripped at his head as his gun dropped from his hold to allow both hands to come up in some vain effort to shield himself, gripping his mouth and jaw as Clay reached down and pulled him up, lining a solid punch to the lower half of his face. Desmond acted then while the man was distracted, bringing down the artefact and slamming it neatly against the side of the man's head, a sickening _thud_ seeming to echo around the office as he slumped unconscious towards the ground.

They stood there a moment, eyes centred solely on the man crumpled in on himself on the office floor. Then Desmond raised his eyes, meeting Clay's.

"Thanks," he breathed out. Clay offered a faint smile, reaching forwards and grabbing Desmond's arm, pulling the younger man along with him as he took off, hurrying out of the office. Desmond followed suit, quickly stuffing the artefact inside the bag he carried as soon as he had a chance to do so, and his footsteps thundered along the abandoned corridors along with Clay's as the pair raced towards the lifts.

"Don't mention it," Clay answered somewhat breathlessly as they ran. "Sorry for not getting here sooner. Like I said, he locked the lift—" he motioned to the elevator which came into view, the door indeed jammed wide open and the panel on the side spitting and hissing as if it was broken. The blond jerked his head towards a stairwell on the right, and the pair descended three steps at a time as they continued onwards, "—so we're going to have to take the long way down."

Desmond wasn't able to respond, so caught up in trying to flee the building as he was. So many thoughts, so many questions were running through his brain. Who _was_ that man? How did he know about the artefact? Why did he want it? And more importantly… how did he know his name?

Unfortunately though it would appear that these were the questions that would have to wait to be answered – preferably in the safety of the Temple. But then, he found himself wondering if even that place was safe. This man was from Abstergo. He didn't know how he knew… he just did.

His stomach churned inside his chest, and Desmond tried to fight the growing waves of nausea that sprung forth as a result of these turbulent thoughts. He needed to clear his head. He had to get out of this building.

The artefact felt heavy on his back.

"We've got the artefact. Can you bring the van around now?" Clay's voice pulled Desmond out of his reverie, and he was brought back to reality as the blond spoke up over the microphone.

" _On it,"_ Shaun answered. Clay exhaled slowly, jumping down onto the next landing of stairs and sprinting down the next. He looked at Desmond.

"That was too fucking close."

Desmond nodded, only far too inclined to agree.

"I want some answers," he ground out through gritted teeth as the pair flew down another level of stairs, almost reaching the bottom floor now. Clay smiled grimly.

"You and me both, Des."

" _Answers will have to wait. Hurry up and get out of that building! I want a full recount when we get back to that temple,"_ William interjected over the line. Desmond was unable to resist rolling his eyes despite the gravity of the situation, and he was equally unable to hold back the slight grin when Clay had done the same.

" _Van's parked out the front, boys."_ That was Rebecca.

Heaving simultaneous sighs of relief, Desmond and Clay burst through the front doors of the penthouse office some three minutes later, the two men quickly slowing down to a jog as they edged past some startled looking pedestrians who looked at them like they were insane as they darted madly out the front entrance.

They saw the van parked – just like Rebecca said it was – out the front, a few metres down the road. They ran towards it, sprinting yet again at the behest of those others on the sidewalk around them, and they jumped inside just as William opened the back doors.

They scrambled into their seats and Shaun drove off, the city of Manhattan falling away behind them.


	10. Chapter 10

"So who the hell is Daniel Cross?"

Desmond was unable to hide the irritation in his voice as he paced back and forth in front of the others the moment they had re-entered the temple grounds, the silence engulfing the assassins almost as absolute as the silence which echoed overbearingly around the sanctum they had holed themselves up in.

No one had talked on the drive back here after Desmond had recounted the events in Manhattan, save for his father giving him a name to the face of the guy who had attacked him in the penthouse, and Desmond had had enough. He looked up, glaring at no one in particular from under his hand which was pressed against his forehead. The artefact felt like it was digging into the base of his spine, and letting out an angered grunt he threw his bag off and flung it haphazardly onto the animus chair. He saw the look on Rebecca's face, the woman's eyes seeming to communicate silently to him that it would be best if he calmed down.

 _Calm down?!_ He wanted to throw his hands up in the air and vent his frustration. _Someone tried to kill me!_

"Believe it or not, he used to be an assassin. _The_ assassin, the way I've heard it told. But it turned out he was a sleeper agent for Abstergo, programmed to infiltrate and destroy the organisation," Shaun offered, the Brit entering the sanctum last and tossing the van's keys over on the pillars near the animus where books and papers had been left out.

Clay walked up to lean against the wall next to Desmond, and the two shared a glance as Shaun's words rang out in the silence.

There was only one thing which ran through their minds at that moment, and looking into each other's eyes right now – they knew that they were indeed both thinking the same thing.

_Lucy._

A sleeper agent for Abstergo… history had a funny way of repeating itself.

"How did he know you were there?" William asked quietly, striding forwards and stroking his hands along his beard. His brows furrowed together as he paused in his steps. "We could be compromised."

"That's the least of our worries right now I think," Clay muttered to Desmond under his breath. The brunet nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with that statement. Abstergo were onto them. They'd known it before, of course, but seeing as it would appear that they also knew enough about the artefacts to want to take them back… to say they now had an even tougher job on their hands was a complete understatement.

"They must have caught me snooping inside their network and sent Cross to see what we were after. If they were aware of our current location, we'd know," Shaun offered, the man walking towards his computer and taking a seat down in the chair he pulled out. He laced his hands together atop the desk, his eyes clouding over with evident concern.

"Though I will say this – it doesn't bode very well for future expeditions."

Clay rolled his eyes, letting out an exasperated sigh as he ran a hand over his face.

"I've set up some cameras topside. If anyone shows up, we'll see it," Rebecca announced. Even though her voice was steady, it was clear by the look in her eyes that she was just as put-off by this whole thing as everyone else was. Desmond looked at her, wondering if he'd ever in his short time of knowing her seen her sit so rigidly still in her seat. He was about to make comment when Shaun lifted his eyes to look directly at him.

"I'd suggest you go see about finding a socket for that power source, Desmond. Then we can all get some sleep before you hop into the animus again later on. All the artefacts in the world won't mean a thing without the key."

Desmond considered this, folding his arms over his chest as he stared calmly back at the historian.

"How low are we on power right now?" He asked quietly. Rebecca lifted her head up.

"We have enough here to last another couple hours or so," she answered. Desmond nodded.

"I'll go find one. Desmond you should get some rest. Same goes for you guys as well," Clay strode forwards, leaning down to pick up the bag Desmond had chucked against the animus, reaching inside to pull out the glowing crystal-like object. Desmond's gaze fell towards it, his brown eyes focused intently on the carvings etched into its blue surface. They seemed to shimmer and shift in size the more he looked at it, and it wasn't until Clay had turned around and had carried it off that he'd blinked and frowned, pulling himself out of whatever reverie it had been that he'd fallen into.

He felt cold all of a sudden and he shivered involuntarily – wrapping his arms around himself in an effort to keep warm. He then looked at the computer Shaun was seated at, and he noted the time as almost nearing five in the morning. He'd been up for at least an entire day without sleep.

"I'm gonna head off," he mumbled under his breath, nodding when Shaun and Rebecca looked at him and offered their good nights. He strode past his father, ignoring the man when it was clear that William wished to speak, and he watched Clay walk towards a set of stairs along the far right-hand side of the sanctum, the blond taking them two at a time before disappearing into what was a small chamber up the far side of the wall. Desmond hadn't noticed that annexe there before, but then again – he tried not to take too much notice of this place.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and he withdrew into the makeshift room that he shared with the blond, heaving a heavy sigh as he threw himself onto the blankets he'd rolled out over his so-called bed. He took his shoes off, but didn't bother to undress himself any more than that. He was too exhausted to do anything else.

As tired as he was, however, he didn't go to sleep. Instead he laid there, eyes trained on the ceiling as he waited. He tapped his feet idly together as he crossed an ankle over the other, and he trained his ears for any sign of movement in the corridor outside.

He heard the others shuffling around, heading to their own separate rooms, and it was a good ten minutes or so until he heard a set of footsteps distinctly walking down the corridor towards the room in which he lay waiting. He turned his head, and he offered a faint smile as Clay walked back in. The blond nodded, arching an eyebrow at Desmond still being awake but otherwise not saying anything else as he stretched his arms over his head and went to sit down on his own array of blankets.

"Got everything sorted?"

Clay nodded, rubbing his eyes and looking down at the brunet.

"Uh-huh. Half the temple lit up out there." He chuckled tiredly.

"How'd you know where to go?" Desmond asked, propping himself up on an elbow. A slow grin quirked upon Clay's lips, and the blond lifted a hand to tap his index finger against his brow in a conspiratorial manner.

"Eagle Vision helps." That was all he said.

Desmond found himself laughing at that, seeming to forget all about his momentary fatigue in favour of looking rather amused instead.

"You serious?"

Clay nodded, his grin widening.

"Sorry Desmond. You're not so special after all."

Desmond laughed again, his laughter trailing off into faint chuckles as he returned his gaze back to the ceiling.

"Did you pick that up from Ezio?" He asked quietly after a minute. Clay gave a nod in the affirmative.

"Yep. Got a little taste of it in my ventures, shall we say. That and his Eagle Sense. Came out of the animus feeling like I'd been on the world's biggest acid trip afterwards though."

Desmond closed his eyes, allowing a smile to cross his lips.

"Not exactly a highlight of my career… but at least the reward it brings makes up for the discomfort. Man how do you even keep up your Eagle Vision for so long? I last for about ten seconds and then I get a migraine."

Desmond shrugged his shoulders.

"Practice makes perfect?" He offered. He heard Clay scoff a little at that.

"Sure, whatever you say Mentore."

That earned a snort from Desmond.

"Shut the fuck up and get some rest."

He looked over in time to see Clay give him a mock salute, the blond smiling as he leant his head back and sighed softly. Another silence settled over the pair, but Desmond knew that it wasn't the type of silence which followed when someone tried to get to sleep. On the contrary, it was clear that both of them were fishing around in their heads for something to say.

Something about tonight's close call in Manhattan, specifically.

He heard rustling and the sound of movement, and Desmond watched as Clay sat back up, the man turning to face Desmond as he laced his hands over his lap. All prior amusement had now drained from his face, and the solemn look in his eyes was one which Desmond understood all too well. He sat himself up to face the other in return, both men looking at one another for a minute until Clay spoke up again.

"That thing with Cross…"

Desmond smiled grimly.

"It was only a matter of time, I s'pose. I would have liked it if Abstergo had stayed off our trail for a while longer though. At least until… well… we've finished here."

Clay nodded.

"But there was something he said, I…" Desmond sighed, rubbing his brow. His shoulders slumped. "He knew my name. He also knew my father apparently, seeing as he told me to ask him about him in the first place."

Clay lifted his hands to his chin, his blue eyes raking over the opposite wall. When he spoke up his voice was quiet.

"I wouldn't be surprised, given his background."

That caught Desmond's attention, the brunet now frowning as he straightened up.

"Come again?"

Clay sighed.

"I know the guy. Or at least I've heard of him…"

Desmond's curiosity was now thoroughly spiked by those uttered words. He leant forwards.

"How?"

"It was before I was sent off to Abstergo… Bill had given me all the intel I needed about the job and he'd been talking to me about the previous test subjects they'd sent in. I didn't know their names, but he'd shown me reports on all of them… Daniel's was in one of the files."

Desmond was momentarily stunned.

"Are you serious?"

Clay rolled his eyes.

"Wouldn't be saying it if I wasn't," he reminded the younger man. "He was one of the promising leads. You heard Shaun out there – going on about how he was the top guy around here for a while, until Abstergo got to him at least. They called him Subject Four in the animus project."

Desmond froze, allowing Clay's words to run through his mind. He closed his eyes.

"Shit…"

Clay nodded, the blond looking rather solemn indeed as he shrugged and dug the heel of his foot against the ground lightly.

"Yep… so basically he _was_ one of us. Ironic, right? The one guy out to get us just so happens to be our humble predecessor."

"Us?" Desmond echoed faintly, looking back at the blond. Clay shrugged.

"Hey, come on. He's not exactly going to let me off the hook either seeing as I bloodied his nose and then some."

"Clay…"

"Desmond, you have to understand something…" Clay leant forwards, his voice low as he gazed steadily at the younger assassin before him. "Daniel _will_ kill you."

Desmond froze again, his mouth wavering as if he was trying to form something to say but at the same time refused to find the appropriate words. In the end he settled on the only thing he could think of to retort with.

"He held me at gunpoint. What was your first guess?"

Clay's eyes narrowed ever so faintly, and Desmond found an uncomfortable surge of guilt forming in the back of his brain, seeping down into his very gut. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I—"

"It's all he knows how to do. It's what he's been programmed to do. He's a loose cannon, Desmond. There's two kinds of crazy we're talking about here. There's the kind of crazy that happened to me… and then there's Daniel. He's on a whole different level."

It was blatantly obvious by the tone of Clay's voice and the pain which bled through into his pale blue eyes that he wasn't making this up. He was being deadly serious.

"… How do you know?" Desmond asked quietly. His mouth felt dry. Clay offered a grim smile, the blond calmly keeping his eyes locked on Desmond's.

"It takes one madman to know another and believe me Miles, I _do_ know insanity when I see it. Your father told me something about him, before I was sent off to Italy. He'd told me that one of the subjects he'd previously sent in was raised in that animus. Practically since his late teens. The moment I walked into that office and saw Cross pointing that gun at you I knew I'd finally discovered just who it was. It's something about the eyes… the tone of voice. He'd also started yammering away in Russian the second he stepped out of his car."

It took Desmond a while to speak.

"But talking in Russian doesn't—"

"Doesn't what? Equate to someone being off the rails? It does when he hissed at himself straight after, in English I might add, for the voices to get out of his head. Sound familiar?"

Desmond shook his head slowly, pleading with the blond before him.

"Don't…"

Clay's smile grew pained.

" _Queen Isabella… no… not her… what century is it?_ " His words rose and fell in a jaunting sing-song, the pain in his eyes only seeming to grow tenfold as he echoed those broken, erratic words the real Clay had screamed over his tapes he'd uploaded into the animus. Desmond's jaw clenched as he shook his head again, much more quickly this time.

"Clay I mean it… stop it… don't—"

" _Where oh where has Jack gone—"_

"Clay… I'm warning you…"

"When do all the voices stop, Desmond? How can anyone _think through all this NOISE—"_

"CLAY!"

He stopped, Clay's expression triumphant as he gazed at the brunet, Desmond glaring at him as he grit his teeth. His hand was bruisingly tight against Clay's wrist from where he'd reached out to grab hold of him as he'd yelled out his name. He didn't know how much more he could take. The pain of those glyphs, of unlocking them and being subjected to the heart-wrenching torment of hearing the man slip deeper and deeper into insanity until he'd been begging for death… it was a pain, a torment that Desmond knew would stay with him until the end of his days.

Clay simply looked at him, not bothering to move his arm even though the hold Desmond had on him was so tight he could barely feel his hand anymore. He knew he'd disturbed Desmond greatly, and he deeply regretted upsetting the man to such a great degree as this, but he was making a point. He _needed_ to make this point right now, because he knew it was the only way that would make him see sense.

He moved his arm then, pulling it out of Desmond's hold so he could wrest his hand on the younger man's shoulder instead.

"So what we're going to have to do from now on, Desmond, is assume that anywhere we go, Daniel will be going too. It's obviously too dangerous to travel together, but there's nothing else we _can_ do." He saw Desmond give a faint nod, and he clasped the man's shoulder reassuringly.

"And if he decides to blow his lid when he's onto us… I'd appreciate it if you'd let me take care of him."

"Why?" Desmond's voice was quiet. Hoarse, even. Clay felt another surge of guilt, but he pushed it away as best he could.

"Look at yourself, Miles. You're barely keeping it together. You can't even handle the mere _memory_ of what happened to me in those glyphs I uploaded. You honestly think you can just stand there and take it when he starts thrashing about screaming in tongues?"

There was a brief silence, until it was broken by Desmond offering a pained smile and a dry laugh.

"Honestly? No."

Clay nodded, knowing fully well that that was going to be his response.

"Get some sleep. You need it." He pulled his hand away, then turned around on his side with his back facing the other man. Desmond was left sitting there, his mouth still feeling dry as he watched the blond for a moment longer. Then he rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to shake his head to get rid of all the unpleasant thoughts, the memories which crawled their way into his head and threatened to overtake completely. He slowed his breathing down, urging himself to stay calm, and he eventually conceded into lying on his back and staring at the ceiling once more for a few minutes until sleep at last finally managed to claim him.

* * *

" _In the beginning, when we thought we could be saved, we sought to face the sun's wrath and contain it. Four towers would be built, to pull Her fury into this place and dispel it."_

 _He walked forwards, unable to blink, unable to_ think _as he took in the holograms of planets rotating in orbit before his sight. The room was gold, a bright, overwhelming gold – the walls carved with illuminated etchings of a civilisation long since forgotten and destroyed. It held a sense of familiarity about it... like he'd been here before. The woman's voice filtered through his ears, his very mind – both nearby and faraway at the same time as she whispered to him; a disembodied message full of mourning and sorrow for the destruction of her people when the world began._

" _But even with all we knew, with all we had, it would take too long. A thousand years we could labour and still the work would not be done."_

_She appeared then, Juno. Her white gown flowed freely from her lithe form, her body transparent and yet somehow corporeal. Her eyes were the palest shade of blue he had ever seen – almost white as she paced around him, looking both at him and at nothing. He felt powerless to do anything except gaze upon her, listening as she filled his head with thoughts and images of the destruction of the entire world._

" _The first tower was never completed, the project abandoned. We moved on. But while we laboured on other endeavours, a few returned."_

_Her hand extended towards the image of a tower which materialised before his sight - it was much like this one, where he stood now. Only it was crumbled, incomplete, an abandoned waste. A smile seemed to form on her dead lips as she continued._

" _They thought to automate the process; metal might finish what flesh could not. If we could not meet the sun's cruel embrace, perhaps we might rebuke it. Already we could generate fields to protect us in times of strife. But these were small and simple things. To replicate them on a scale the size of a world… we lacked the energy to make it so."_

_A ring was shown before him – an artefact, much like the Pieces of Eden. Tinia wore it, Desmond realised, as he watched the hologram repel, deflect oncoming attacks simply using the sheer power the ring granted to him. It was far too small to save a world, Desmond found himself thinking. He looked at her. She circled him._

" _Half the world they said then. It is better than none at all. We tried. Again we failed. A quarter, they asked. Even this we could not do." She had paused, and now Desmond was acutely aware of the sensation that her cold eyes were now trained intently on him; unblinking and yet not unseeing. She approached. He took a step back._

_Her face then morphed, and as she ran towards him her lips had curled into a loathing sneer._

" _A sixth, an eighth, a TENTH they cried!" Her words echoed within his skull, within his very brain as she lifted her voice into a yell – and Desmond felt fear clamp at his limbs, tear through his chest and make his heart grow to a still. He let out the breath he did not know he had been holding onto when she drew back, her face eerily calm, complacent once more. She turned away._

" _The answer was still the same. Perhaps in time a city might be spared, but it was time we did not have. So we moved on."_

_She faded away before his very eyes, and with it, Desmond found himself waking up._

His first reaction was to gasp, pulling air feverishly into his lungs as his eyes snapped open. He saw movement out the corner of his eye and he flinched, starting and shuffling backwards to give him room and lock his eyes on who or whatever it was that was standing near him.

He relaxed immediately when he saw that it was just Clay, the blond raising his hands in an apologetic gesture in front of him as he took a step back. His eyes were narrowed however, and he was looking at the brunet with increased concern in his gaze. It was then that Desmond realised a cold sweat had broken out on his forehead, and his limbs were drenched.

He lifted a shaking hand and pressed it to his face, trying to calm his breathing.

"Hey… you ok?"

Desmond forced himself to nod, glancing back up at Clay and offering a weak smile as he groaned and sat up properly, hunching over and smoothing his hair out. He felt clammy and uncomfortable, and fear gripped at his chest and cut deeply to his heart like the twist of a knife.

"I'm… I'm fine, Clay." His voice sounded dry. He had difficulty getting the words out. Clay frowned, the blond not looking convinced in the slightest as he took a step forwards again, carefully sitting himself down on the far edge of the rock that comprised Desmond's makeshift bed.

"Really? Because you were mumbling Juno's name in your sleep."

Desmond froze, his chest constricting painfully tightly in and around itself. He slowly lifted his head, and he locked pained brown eyes on concerned light blue.

"She's talking to me again…" He whispered. Clay straightened up, his body tense, alert.

"What did she say?"

Desmond shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I… I don't know it… it didn't make any sense she was… she was…" He rubbed his brow, the beginnings of a headache starting to form within his skull. He groaned lowly. "She was telling me about how… how her people failed here. In saving the world."

He heard silence for a few seconds and he forced himself to look up to meet Clay's gaze again, and he waited as he watched the blond cross his arms over his chest, the man studying Desmond's face carefully as he no doubt mulled over those words.

"Are you planning on telling the others?"

Desmond was confused by that question, and he rubbed his shirt sleeve against his brow, hoping to remove some of the cold perspiration from his face.

"I… I dunno… should I?"

Clay sighed.

"I don't know. But if it's going to be a regular thing then they're only going to find out somehow sooner or later."

Desmond thought that over for a minute, his breathing now having turned back to normal to some extent. He bowed his head, clamping his hands over his eyes.

"It was just the two of us… in this… room… it could have been a room in the temple here but… it was all _gold_ and… it felt so… real… like… she was actually _there_. Inside my head."

Clay didn't respond, but if Desmond had chosen that moment to look up he would have seen a bold fear flash across the man's eyes for a split second before it was smoothed effortlessly over once more.

"She showed me things…" Desmond trailed off in a whisper. It was then that he met Clay's stare, and brown eyes locked onto blue as the pair held each other's gazes. Clay was the first to stand up. He extended his hand, his lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled Desmond up with him. When the younger man had dusted himself off the blond turned to him.

"Whatever you do, Desmond… don't listen to her. Promise me that." There was a barely contained urgency within his tone, and Desmond would have laughed then if he could have. Laughed because he had no intention of trusting her either. He could still hear her words echoing within his head, her voice dripping with venom like that of a poisonous snake.

"I thought I'd already done that." That was all he could make himself say. Clay tried his best to offer a faint smile, and he clapped the brunet on the shoulder before turning around. "Come on. They were calling for you out there earlier."

Desmond followed, ignoring the way his stomach lurched uncomfortably at the inference behind Clay's words; it was time to enter the animus once more and continue his sessions. But he remained silent nevertheless, and he was greeted by Shaun and Rebecca looking up from their breakfast. They were sitting at their computers, as per usual. William was inspecting a jutting out structure of wall a few ways ahead, holding a cup of coffee in his grasp. Desmond quickly dropped his gaze and picked up a plate of leftover sandwiches. Clay walked off to grab some coffee.

"Morning Desmond," Rebecca announced, smiling at him. "Baby's all ready to go."

"Thanks to Mark's exploits from earlier we were able to preserve some more power to keep us going for a while longer, but I'm sure you've noticed that the bridge has moved again somewhat," Shaun continued, reaching up to take his glasses off for a moment to wipe the lens on the sleeves of his shirt. Desmond nodded, taking a bite of his sandwich. It tasted dry to his lips and had no flavour.

"We're going to be continuing that search for more power sources while you continue your sessions," Rebecca added. Desmond nodded again, reaching for the coffee after placing his sandwich back down on the plastic plate. He didn't feel hungry.

"How long d'you think it'd take?" He asked, sipping slowly from his mug.

"It depends on how well my search goes today. We could either have it by the end of the afternoon or the end of next week," Shaun admitted. Desmond sighed.

"And Abstergo? Are they still homing in on your searches through their database?" He knew he shouldn't have said that to the older man, but he wasn't feeling in a particularly agreeable mood right now. Shaun seemed to take it in stride however, and only responded by arching an eyebrow behind his glasses as he slid them back over the bridge of his nose.

"Possibly. But I know how to cover my tracks." And that was all he said about that. Desmond sighed, feeling too tired to argue. William walked over.

"We have work to do, Desmond. Come on son," he murmured quietly, nodding his head in the direction of the animus. Desmond drained the last of his coffee, striding towards the chair and sliding himself down. He noticed Rebecca and Shaun sharing a brief look, as if surprised that he hadn't offered some kind of retort before getting in. He would have, but that… conversation or… whatever it was with Juno had drained him. He offered a faint smile in Clay's direction as the blond stepped up to the animus, giving Desmond a return smile of his own.

Try as he might though, he couldn't quite mask the concern that still echoed within his eyes. Desmond leant back, sighing as Rebecca got to work on the IV cords, pressing it against his arm. As he felt the darkness consume his mind he thought he heard a distant echo of a woman's voice… but he was out before he could think any further on the matter.

Clay meanwhile sipped from his coffee every so often, the blond deep in thought as Desmond relaxed and fell into unconsciousness. The video feeds were set up, and as he glanced at the screen Rebecca was focused on he watched as Ratonhnhaké:ton, or more colloquially, Connor (who had been revealed as Haytham's son and Desmond's next direct ancestor) traversed the Homestead in the Frontier. He had taken up his training under the mentorship of one Achilles Davenport, shortly after he had learned the fate of his village from a vision Juno had bestowed upon him from a Piece of Eden that the Kanien'keha:ka tribe had long since coveted, believing it to be of spiritual importance to their people and the land they lived on.

He felt disgusted, knowing that Juno's reach had extended so far throughout Desmond's ancestral tree. However, that was not his main concern right now. What he _was_ concerned about was Desmond's vision.

What he hadn't told him this morning when the man had startled himself awake was that aside from mumbling Juno's name as he thrashed under the blankets, he'd also been crying out another name entirely. And it was the same name that he had been screaming when he'd first had that nightmare, the night they arrived at the temple.

That name had been Clay's own.

He was disturbed, to say the least. What would cause Desmond to act in such a way? And why would he say it with such pain in his voice? He wanted to know, but at the same time he sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up with him. It was clear that Desmond needed to be distracted as much as he could from these nightmares which would so often plague him, and the _last_ thing that would do him any good would be to bring it up in conversation.

But now that Juno was sending him visions…

Clay had always been powerless against Desmond's tormented mind – even when he'd been lodged in the back of his brain for that brief period. They hadn't been able to talk for four whole days because every night Desmond would be plagued by ghosts of his ancestors, of the choices he'd made in his life. Clay had suffered much the same when he was in Abstergo, and he knew with a sinking heart that slowly but surely, Desmond was following the same path he'd taken.

If he kept this up, it wouldn't be long until he would no longer be able to tell the past from the present.

He wanted to help him. With every cell, every fibre of his being here inside Mark's body, he wanted to prevent his own history from repeating itself in this man. It was his mission, his job that he had been assigned first from Juno, but now had taken it upon himself to adhere to almost religiously. He needed to keep Desmond safe – from Abstergo, from Cross, from the animus… and most importantly, from Juno herself.

He owed it to him, seeing as Desmond saved him in more ways than Clay could ever find the time to thank him for. He looked back down at him, blue eyes studying Desmond's face for a moment. He thought it cruelly ironic that the only time he'd seen him look this remotely peaceful was when he was doped up and in the animus, because then he was no longer in control of his own mind. All he had to do was sit back, relax, and let Connor do all the work.

He finished his coffee, and on his way to place the cup by the others he'd reached down and lightly clasped Desmond on the shoulder, gripping it reassuringly like he had earlier on last night before walking away again to deposit his cup.

He came back, and Shaun looked at him.

"Mark, I've got a little job for you," he began. Clay frowned, feeling rather confused indeed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh?"

Shaun nodded.

"I need to go listen in on the radio to see if there's any reports circling around still about you or the rest of us in general, so would you be able to continue that search there for me?" He nodded to his computer as he rose from his chair. Clay nodded, sitting himself down. He had nothing better to do, after all. And at least this would keep him within direct sight of Desmond should something go wrong. Not that it would, but… it never hurt to be prepared. He'd learnt that the hard way after all.

"Sure thing."

Shaun seemed pleased with that.

"Thanks for that." And then he walked off.

Clay leant back in the chair, spreading his fingers over the keyboard with practiced efficiency. He'd been in the programming department at engineering school before becoming an assassin, and if there was one thing he knew – it was computers. After all, his glyphs and his AI construct had proved that.

 _Well technically I_ am _the AI construct…_

He sighed. Now was not the time or the place to be thinking about that. He brought his attention once more to the matter at hand. As he scrolled down the list of pages and codes that Shaun had on his screen, he felt somewhat impressed by the historian's work up to this point. It was clear that he knew all about hacking – perhaps even enough to rival Rebecca or Clay himself – and he knew that Abstergo would have to redouble their efforts if they wanted to catch him snooping around their database this time.

 _I gotta hand it to you, Shaun… you're not such a screw up after all._ A wry smile was brought to his lips at that.

"What's so funny?"

He looked up, shaking his head at Rebecca's inquiry, the technician looking at him with narrowed eyes and a hard edge to her voice.

"Nothing." He went back to the search, waiting for the results to come through. As he did, he began to type up some algorithms and codes of his own, seeking to speed up the process a little more.

"You look like you know your way around a computer there, Mark."

Clay froze, hearing William's voice from close behind. He cleared his throat lightly, turning his head to see the man standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest. He shrugged.

"I get by. Had a bit of experience in college," he answered, waving it off. William's lips quirked upwards into the faintest of smiles, and the man nodded as he walked away to grab himself some more coffee. Clay glanced at the man out the corner of his eye, not entirely understanding why his heart felt like it was about to jump right out of his chest. Then he realised his fingers were trembling, and he quickly inhaled slowly to try and calm himself down.

He found he then finally understood why it was that Desmond feared his father so much, even if he never outwardly said it; it felt as though William was constantly evaluating him, as if hoping he'd screw up in some way or… Clay swallowed thickly, taking another slow breath. Maybe William suspected that 'Mark' wasn't who he made himself out to be? He looked back at the screen. It looked like there was a search result that popped up somewhere in Brazil. He clicked on it, needing to distract himself.

"How's he doing?"

Rebecca and Clay both looked up this time, William having strode back over. He was standing in front of his son, looking down at Desmond with a foreign expression in his eyes. If Clay didn't know any better it was something akin to… sorrow or… some kind of grief. He felt stunned.

"Fine. His vitals are all good and he's making progress with Connor," Rebecca answered. William nodded, taking a sip from his drink.

"Excellent."

"Bill…"

William turned, looking at Rebecca who had spoken up. Her voice was unusually quiet and she fidgeted with her hands over her keyboard.

"Why are you pushing him so hard?"

Clay exhaled sharply, not wanting to be an active participant in this conversation. He'd already had this talk with William after all, and he'd said his piece. He did however catch William's eyes on him again, and he forced himself to meet the man's stare, not wanting to back down.

"… He needs to get off his ass and do some proper work for once."

Rebecca shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh as she pinched the bridge of her nose with her hand. Clay's eyes narrowed and what fear he still felt curling away at his mind was now replaced swiftly by an onset of anger.

"Bill…" He said lowly, his tone filled with warning. William turned his back.

"Same goes for you two." And with that he'd left, no doubt retreating into the room that he had claimed as his own during their stay here. There was a moment in which neither Rebecca nor Clay made any comment after watching William walk off, but soon they turned to one another.

"He's such an asshole…" She muttered sharply under her breath. Clay gave a dry smile at that, and he glanced back at his screen. The search had ended, and as he looked at the results it appeared strongly likely that an artefact was located in Brazil. It was also strongly likely that another artefact was somewhere in Egypt. He frowned, running his eyes over both searches.

São Paulo and Cairo.

He then looked over at Desmond again.

Getting to either of these places was no problem, but what worried him now was how long Desmond would be able to last on either of these two trips. If Juno was to keep sending him visions, he wouldn't be able to go out into the field to grab these power sources. Clay would have happily gone and retrieved each of these artefacts himself, but he couldn't risk leaving Desmond alone.

_I'm in a tough predicament here._

"Finished?"

He was pulled out of his thoughts, offering a nod to Shaun as he stood up and let the historian back in his seat.

"Yeah. Got two searches there. Brazil and Egypt."

Shaun looked impressed.

"Fantastic, thanks for that Mark." Clay nodded and waved it off.

"Any news from the outside?" Rebecca asked. Shaun lifted his gaze to her.

"So far, none. Which is a huge relief for obvious reasons. But that doesn't mean to say of course that we're completely let off the hook for now."

"What's the part you're not telling us?" Rebecca arched an eyebrow at him. Shaun sighed.

"The police are conducting a search of the office Desmond broke into last night. They're trying to find who the culprit was who broke in and stole the artefact from the desk."

Clay sighed.

"That didn't take them very long…" He muttered under his breath.

"I'm amazed it didn't take them sooner, to be perfectly honest," Shaun mused. "Considering Cross is an Abstergo agent. I'm surprised they weren't the ones to jump in firsthand on the investigation."

Clay nodded.

"Which means that they're lying low on purpose."

Shaun scratched his head.

"Well that _is_ a possibility I suppose, yes…"

"We can't worry about that now. As long as the cameras I've set up keep showing we're in the all-clear, I don't want to waste my time thinking about them," Rebecca announced, turning back to the feed of Desmond's session.

Shaun and Clay shared a look, both men shrugging.

"Sounds good," Clay chuckled wistfully, reaching up a hand to run it through his hair and sighing as he closed his eyes for a bit. He realised then that he was still tired, not having had a very good sleep overall thanks to Desmond's restless night.

"Do we tell him as soon as he finishes his session?" He found himself asking, nodding his head at Shaun's computer to show he was referring to the locations of the next few power sources. Shaun glanced at him momentarily before returning back to his work, tapping his fingers away at his keyboard.

"Not yet. I haven't managed to confirm these searches, even though there's already enough evidence here to indicate that the artefacts are _definitely_ at these locations. I'll let you all know when I get updated on the situation."

Clay nodded, Rebecca doing likewise. In order to distract himself and give himself something to do, Clay settled for walking away from the group momentarily, sparing another quick glance at Desmond as he did so. His footsteps seemed to echo around the sanctum as he walked, and he shoved his hands into his pockets the closer he drew to the looming gate at the end of the bridge.

His eyes raked over the structure from top to bottom, wild thoughts rushing through his head at the possibilities of what lay beyond. He paused a few metres from it, focusing his eyes on the bright sigil etched into the hard transparent barrier. A thoughtful look entered his eyes, and for a moment he was reminded of the symbols he'd splattered across the walls of the lab back in Abstergo. His left hand twitched, and for a brief second he could almost feel the pen being driven into the very centre of his wrist, breaking skin and bone and gushing out thick crimson blood…

He closed his eyes, feeling bile threaten to rise in his throat.

Of course he'd already uploaded his AI construct into the animus by this point – the real Clay, that was. The AI standing here in the temple in Mark's body had never personally experienced the pain that his 'real' self had gone through. But he'd imagined it. Oh _god_ had he imagined it.

It was all that he'd thought about for weeks up until his death. Planning just how he'd do it, every intricate detail… down to the exact locations and designs of each glyph he'd placed. And it was these thoughts that had wormed themselves into the AI construct, along with every other memory inside Clay's broken, deranged mind. It was lucky this 'new' Clay was even able to maintain sanity, or as close to it as he could manage.

But it still wasn't enough to stop him from curling up at night, from gritting his teeth as he tried to stop the tears from flowing. It didn't stop the nightmares, and every morning when he would wake up long before Desmond he would try to get a hold of himself, would try to get that hold back on his mind as he looked down at the brunet and reminded himself who he was fighting for and why it was important he make sure he stayed alive.

Would the real Clay have done this?

His gaze dropped to the ground ahead as he chewed his bottom lip slightly in thought.

That was the question, wasn't it?

_Yes. He would have._

That was what he wanted to believe, anyway. But the real Clay was long gone, and the copy here… standing here in this temple, sentient, _alive_ , was the only Clay that mattered now. His hands curled slowly into fists inside his pockets.

And even if the real Clay wouldn't have gone this far, _this_ Clay definitely would have. And he was. And that was all there was to it.

These thoughts seemed to bolster his strength somewhat, and he lifted his eyes to look back at the gate before him. He stared directly at the faint outline of the pedestal beyond.

"If you lay one finger on him…" He whispered lowly, his voice barely audible to even his own ears as he hissed his words, "… I'll make sure you pay, Juno."

Even though she had yet to show herself to anyone other than Desmond, he knew that she was there, watching and listening to his words right now. It would be mad to think that she wasn't.

And for her sake, he sincerely hoped she took his words to heart.


	11. Chapter 11

He could still feel the bowstring taut in his hand, his arrow nocked and ready to strike when he was pulled out of the animus. Desmond blinked, adjusting to the familiar grogginess which swept across his brain, and he slowly sat up from the machine.

"Break time already?"

He'd been on Charles Lee's trail, Connor having caught wind of the man's location. What with William Johnson having already fallen to his blade, the forced surrender of his peoples' lands the deciding factor which saw Connor fit to end the Templar's life, the Native assassin was on a personal vendetta now more than ever to catch the man who had burned his village to the ground when he was a child. Desmond could still feel the pain that wracked his very soul at the image of his mother – no, _Connor's_ mother – gazing at him with tears streaming down her eyes, her last whispered words of reassurance and love fading away as her body became engulfed in the cruel heat of the flames.

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes and forcing himself to focus on the present.

"Yes indeed, Desmond. As a matter of fact that's the only session today," Shaun announced from somewhere to his left. Desmond frowned and lifted his head to stare at him.

"You serious?" He was surprised, to say the least. Shaun nodded, still not lifting his head from his work. Rebecca wasn't sitting in her usual spot at the computer in front of him, and Desmond could see his father typing at something on his iPad a few feet or so away from the animus. Clay wasn't anywhere to be seen either.

"Where're the others?" He asked. Shaun looked up then.

"Bill asked Rebecca to do surveillance of the outside. Mark was somewhere back there when I last saw him." He jabbed his thumb in some vague direction behind him and returned to his work. Desmond arched an eyebrow and hoisted himself up, stretching his arms over his head and sighing in satisfaction as his back popped. He then turned around and smiled as he saw the blond approaching from the direction of the gate at the far end of the bridge.

"Hey."

Clay offered a wave, striding over towards him.

"Finished already?" He asked. Desmond nodded, though his eyes narrowed ever so faintly as he studied the blond carefully for a minute. He seemed… distracted about something. He didn't know what it was and he wasn't going to ask, but there was a distant look in his blue eyes. He pushed it out of his mind, mentally shaking his head clear and willing himself to focus on the matter at hand.

"Shaun said something about this being my only session today…"

Clay blinked, and just like that the distant look in his eyes faded away.

"Good. I asked him to cut you some slack just before you woke up."

Desmond chuckled faintly at that.

_Of course._

"We've also listed down two possible power source locations as well," Clay continued as he walked back towards the area where Shaun and the animus were. Desmond followed him, his hands in his hoodie pockets.

"Really? Already?" He sighed. "No offence but I don't feel up to heading back out there just yet."

Clay gave a wry smile.

"Relax, we're not going anywhere yet. We need to confirm the searches but it looks like one is in Brazil and the other is in Cairo."

Desmond promptly stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening ever so faintly.

"Please tell me you're joking."

Clay raised a hand and pressed it to his chest, directly over his heart.

"I swear that the evidence that I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the—"

"Not helping, Clay."

The blond snickered, dropping his hand and offering a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders instead.

"Bit of a stretch I know, but with a bit of luck we can get this over and done with before the twenty first."

Desmond sighed; he didn't feel too overly certain about that one.

"Yeah… maybe." Clay looked at him again, his expression softening slightly as he reached out and clasped the brunet's shoulder, offering him some degree of reassurance. Desmond smiled, feeling grateful for that small gesture, and he tried his best to smooth over the look of concern on his face as the pair stopped by Shaun's desk, the Brit looking up again when the two had approached.

"You know I'd love to stay and chat boys but I'm currently busy here right now so if you could _both_ do me a favour and clear off that'd be great."

Desmond and Clay looked at each other, eyebrows raised and faint grins twitching at the corners of their lips.

"Alright then," Clay spoke up, holding up both of his hands and taking an exaggerated step backwards. Desmond simply strode past to grab himself a cup of coffee, seeing as there had been some more freshly brewed and waiting by the books on the nearby table.

"Thanks for the coffee Shaun," he called out.

"Bugger off."

He snorted, raising the cup to his lips and taking a long sip of the aromatic caffeine, sighing contentedly as it hit his throat. He saw movement out the corner of his eye and he watched as Clay leant against the wall next to him, the blond closing his eyes and tilting his head back.

"Want some coffee?"

Clay shook his head, smiling.

"Nah I'm good."

Desmond shrugged.

"Your call. You look like you haven't slept for a week though."

Clay didn't respond, though Desmond could see that the grin which pulled at the man's mouth was forced. He paused, wondering what was going on with him, but he remained steadfast in that he wouldn't question him over it. He had the distinct feeling that if Clay wanted him to know he would tell him.

"How's your session going?"

That question took Desmond off guard momentarily, and he paused in taking a fresh sip of coffee.

"Good I guess… for the most part. I've… well… _Connor's_ been going after Haytham's inner circle. Johnson's down already. Charles Lee seems to be the main target here, though."

Clay opened his eyes then.

"Not Haytham?" He queried. Desmond shook his head.

"No, not yet at least. Which is weird… I mean you'd think seeing as his own father is a Templar he'd be… well…"

"Going after him first instead of saving him second best?" Clay offered. Desmond nodded.

"Exactly."

"Well he _did_ seem pretty reluctant about it when Achilles first pitched him the idea."

"True…" Desmond drained some more of his coffee, reaching down to pour himself another cup. "Would you be the same though? I mean if you found out your father was a Templar?"

That question resulted in a few seconds of silence.

"Maybe. Sometimes I felt he actually _was_ a Templar," Clay chuckled. Desmond smiled around the mouth of his cup, taking another sip of coffee.

"Yeah I hear you."

Clay's smile widened, and he looked at Desmond – nudging the younger man's shoulder with his own and nodding to William who was still absorbed with his iPad some few feet away. He lowered his voice to a light whisper.

"Templar plot twist?"

Desmond snorted on his coffee, almost ending up choking on it as the hot liquid went down the wrong way and his eyes watered. As he coughed into the back of his hand he was vaguely aware of his father looking up then and narrowing his eyes on his son, a strongly disapproving glare being fired in his direction. Desmond quickly regained control of himself, and he shoved Clay in the side with his elbow – feeling satisfaction course smugly through him as the blond grunted and gripped his chest.

"Can you two do me a favour?"

They promptly stopped, straightening up and glancing warily at one another as William cleared his throat and looked calmly at them.

"I've been doing a run through of the temple to see if I can find some other kind of access point to reach that bridge which would enable us to bypass having to find the rest of those artefacts. I'm a bit busy here right now so if you can just finish off your coffee there and find something productive to do, I'd greatly appreciate it."

"And by 'busy', _how_ busy are you, exactly?" Desmond asked drily, not buying it. William's lips curved into a thin smile.

"A lot busier than you, apparently."

Desmond rolled his eyes, not even bothering trying to come up with anything to reply to that with. Clay straightened himself up, casting Desmond a quick glance as Desmond finished off his coffee.

"Something productive, huh?" He mused quietly. "I feel like I've said this before, but if on some rare off-chance that I haven't I'll say it again. Your dad's a dick."

Desmond smiled thinly.

"Tell me something I don't know."

* * *

A half hour later saw Rebecca finally re-emerge from the outside world, the raven haired woman looking windswept, her hair and clothes a right mess as she stumbled back inside. Shaun arched an eyebrow at her from under his glasses as he lifted his head from his food – the others having spent some time grabbing whatever snacks they wanted for a quick dinner. It was 6:30 in the evening, and everyone was hungry.

Desmond and Clay looked at one another as they paused in eating from a pack of chips, and they were unable to hide the amused grins as they cleared their throats and went back to occupying themselves with food. Rebecca evidently noticed however, and she fixed them with an unimpressed glare.

"The weather's crazy out there, ok?"

Desmond smiled.

"Looks like it."

Rebecca rolled her eyes, leaning over and stealing a pack of chips off of Shaun's desk, much to the Brit's malcontent.

"Did you find anything out there?" William asked from the seat he had taken down at Rebecca's computer. She looked at him, tearing through the packet and shovelling a few chips into her mouth before speaking.

"As far as surveillance goes, there's no sign of Abstergo out there. Nothing to indicate they've been parking around lying in wait for us."

William looked visibly relieved.

"Perfect."

Rebecca swallowed her mouthful of chips and placed the half-eaten packet back on Shaun's desk, Shaun picking them up and staring at them with a look of heartfelt longing and sorrow.

"There's just one slight detail though…"

That promptly got everyone's attention, and Rebecca sighed as everyone's eyes fixed intently on her, mouths pausing in chewing their food. Desmond had only heard Rebecca use that tone of voice once before, so there was no doubt about it. Whatever was going on outside… it was serious.

She wrung her hands together in front of her, Rebecca looking visibly conflicted by what she was trying to put into words in her head. Eventually she threw her hands up in exasperation and came right out with it.

"There's something down here. Well… not maybe _in here_ exactly but… just here in general..."

She was met with confused stares. Desmond however grew still, a dull sense of dread slowly rising within his gut. He had a feeling he knew what she was talking about. He'd noticed Clay had frozen beside him as well, the blond apparently thinking something similar himself.

"What do you mean exactly?" William asked, the man looking confused. The technician sighed heavily once more and rubbed a hand over her eyes.

"Don't tell me you haven't felt it? This… presence? It's been here ever since we first set foot inside this place. Like someone's… watching…"

Everyone swapped glances.

"Don't be daft," Shaun scoffed. Rebecca glared at him.

"I'm telling you Shaun – there's something down here!"

Desmond tried to inch closer to the wall, as if in some vain effort to somehow mould himself into it to make himself invisible. He had a sneaking suspicion of what Rebecca was referring to… and he would rather not acknowledge it. If Juno was doing more than simply sending him visions this didn't bode well for anyone. Next to him he felt Clay nudge him gently in the arm with his elbow, silently communicating to him to get a hold of himself and relax.

"Rebecca, is everything alright?" William asked, no doubt trying to make his tone understanding and gentle. Desmond fought the urge to shift uncomfortably.

"Everything's fine, Bill! I'm just telling you that we're not alone down here! Don't go telling me I'm the crazy one here because I sure as hell know when something fucks with the video sessions I record!" Rebecca answered, sounding abrasive as she snapped back. When she saw the reproving look in William's eyes she quickly cleared her throat and took a deep breath, settling herself down on the animus.

"I dunno, maybe they were sleeping or something and we woke them? Some kind of… cryogenics? Or… hibernation? I keep getting energy signals on the computer and they always spike when Desmond's in his sessions and then the air starts getting colder… it's… it's all kinds of weird. I didn't say anything about it before but I can't keep quiet about it now. It got real bad last night."

Desmond swallowed thickly, finishing off his packet of chips and closing his eyes for a minute as he ran Rebecca's words and the implications behind them in his head.

This was definitely what he'd feared.

"I mean… how the hell do we know what they were doing down here?" The woman finished off, letting her shoulders slump as she folded her arms over her knees.

"They were working on a bunch of different solutions, but nothing worked. Just went from one to the next and then… I dunno. They must have left at some point. After the end."

Eyes turned to face Desmond, who had chosen that moment to speak up. His voice was quiet but he knew they'd all heard him nevertheless. He kicked at the ground with his feet, acutely aware of Clay calmly watching him from the side, the blond's expression unreadable.

Shaun on the other hand had sat up straighter in his chair, frowning as he centred his gaze on the younger man. A look of relief was etched across Rebecca's face, whereas William on the other hand… he looked wary.

"How do you know this?" He asked. Desmond sighed.

"Because Juno came to me last night in a dream, dad." He muttered. William's eyes widened, as did Shaun's. Clay bowed his head and decided to focus his attention on the ground, as if finding his feet suddenly very interesting. Rebecca gasped.

"Wait, so… those readings…" She trailed off, realisation hitting her. Desmond gave a grim smile.

"But that's exactly what I was saying!" Rebecca cried out, face caught between one of excitement and awe. "This proves that we're not the only ones here! If Juno's visiting Desmond in his sleep then—"

"Wait a second, you're saying _she_ visited _you_?" William interrupted sharply. Desmond nodded. His father continued to stare at him, anger slowly broiling within his piercing eyes to replace the wariness that was there earlier on. "Son… do you have any idea how—"

"I know it's dangerous dad, but there was nothing I could do about it! I was just sleeping and then all of a sudden she was… right _there_. Talking to me." Desmond gripped his hair, sighing heavily. "I don't know what she wants, but what I _do_ know is that Rebecca's right. She's here."

"… Why didn't you tell us this sooner?" Shaun asked quietly.

"Because it didn't start happening until last night."

A heavy silence followed, and Desmond felt as if somehow the temple had grown in size around them. Either that or he'd suddenly grown very small, as he felt as if the very air itself was constricting around him, pushing him into that corner and making him feel shallow, looked down on...

"I wonder what the world would be like if they'd succeeded…"

Eyes refocused on Rebecca, the woman quietly whispering aloud to those present. Desmond exhaled slowly, glad that the pressure was no longer on him under their scrutinising stares.

"I'm more concerned about what it would be like if we _don't_ ," Shaun replied, the Brit turning back to his computer and shovelling the rest of his half-eaten chips into his mouth.

"Which brings us back to maybe something a bit more important here," Clay announced, stepping forwards and grabbing himself a beer from the cooler Shaun had purchased for the group along with everything else when he had gone out for a supply run earlier that morning. "These power sources."

Desmond could have sighed in relief right then and there from Clay's intervention. At least no one was talking about Juno anymore. He smiled faintly and caught the second bottle of beer that the blond threw to him.

"Ah yes. Well what's the date today… November fifteenth…" Shaun murmured, checking his computer screen. "I'm still trying my best to confirm those earlier searches, but regardless of whether they're exactly at these specific locations or not, it's still going to take time to organise flights, et cetera."

"I was looking at chartering a jet for Brazil earlier on," Rebecca announced, chipping in as she dug out an apple from the shopping bags. She took a bite, and she paused in speaking as she chewed thoughtfully. Shaun looked exasperated.

"And?" He urged her on. Rebecca rolled her eyes.

"Nothing free before early December."

Desmond bit back the low groan which threatened to spill from his lips. That was too far away. It would be cutting things way too close if the world decided to end a few weeks after that.

"Are you bloody serious?!" Shaun looked outraged. Rebecca sighed, nodding solemnly as she crunched into her apple again.

"'Fraid so. They have a huge stadium event around that time so flights are pretty solidly booked out until then. Even the private ones."

"How early in December do you mean?" Clay asked quietly. Rebecca looked at him.

"Absolute earliest I can do is the second."

"We'll have to try then, provided of course the artefact is actually there," William grunted. "In the meantime we're just going to have to play it safe here and keep low and well out of sight. Desmond will continue trying to find that key and hopefully by the time we get our hands on that artefact we'll have found its location, or at least be on the verge of discovering it."

Desmond took a swig of his beer, glad to feel the tang of alcohol on his tongue again. He'd need it to try and deal with all of this.

"Son?"

Desmond blinked, looking back at his father who had spoken again. William was looking right at him.

"What?"

The older man rolled his eyes.

"Were you even listening? I asked if that was ok with you." The look on his face clearly stated though that no matter what Desmond thought, this plan would still be going ahead anyway. So he sighed, nodding in bitter agreement.

"Sure. Fine, whatever."

William seemed pleased with this, and he cleared his throat as he stood up.

"We'll also need to begin making scheduled checks of the outside farmlands, just in case Abstergo have somehow managed to track our location down. Just because we don't see them right now doesn't mean they're not out there. Shaun, keep us all up-to-date with the radio reports. Mark, tomorrow morning I want you to take the first shift out there - scout the place thoroughly and report back. Rebecca, at dusk I want you to go out there and do the exact same."

Clay frowned.

"What time tomorrow morning? Because a sleep in would be great." He arched an eyebrow. Desmond's lips twitched and he had to quickly down some more of his beer to stop the smirk from spreading fully over his mouth. William on the other hand didn't seem to find the comment so amusing.

"First light." His tone was absolute and brooked no room for argument. Clay sighed, shrugging and sculling down his beer, placing the empty bottle on the nearby desk before pushing away from the wall and stretching his arms over his head.

"I'll head off then. I'm dead tired." He gave a nonchalant wave and disappeared down the corridor which led to his and Desmond's room, not stopping to see if the brunet would follow him or not, nor would he offer any form of response to the others' good night's as they nodded at him. Desmond watched him leave, concern now steadily eating away at him once more.

He wanted to ask him if there was anything wrong, but at the same time he knew that if Clay wanted to tell him, he would. But he hadn't seemed right since Desmond woke up from his session…

His hands tightened around the bottle in his hold, and he took another swig of his beer, though more cautiously this time.

"How much longer do you think it'll be until you find that key's whereabouts?"

Desmond shrugged his shoulders, fixing his eyes back on his father.

"Hard to say. Haytham definitely had it last. But as to where it is now… it's anyone's guess."

"D'you think he gave it to one of his inner circle?" Rebecca asked quietly. Desmond mulled that over in his head for a minute.

"Possibly. Or he could have sent it back off to Birch in England."

"No, that's impossible," Shaun shook his head. "If it was in England then Juno wouldn't have gone to all this trouble to send you _here_ in the first place."

Desmond couldn't argue with that. Shaun had a point.

"I'll keep tracking down Pitcairn and the rest of them then."

He paused, noticing Rebecca and Shaun were staring at him.

"What?"

"You?" They echoed. It was then that Desmond realised his slip-up, and he resisted the urge to groan as he gripped his forehead.

"Connor, I mean." Even though the others looked greatly amused by this he still didn't find it funny.

"Go get an early night, Desmond. You'll be busy tomorrow no doubt," William spoke up quietly as he clapped his son on the back. Desmond nodded, having no doubts about that whatsoever. So he finished his beer and bid goodnight to the rest, and he trekked towards his room.

As he strode through the darkened corridors (made eerie by the faint glowing blue carvings etched into their black surfaces), he realised that he wasn't tired. He idly wondered to himself if Clay was still up. If he was, he wouldn't mind talking to him. About what he didn't know, but when he was with the older man he found he could easily forget about most of the troubles which weighed him down as they talked it out. Besides… if Juno decided to try conversing with him the second he went to sleep again, at least he'd be able to put off the inevitable for a while longer.

It was with this thought in mind that his pace quickened as he strode towards his room, only bringing himself in to a halt as he stood at the doorway. He could see Clay lying on his side on his pile of blankets, and he cleared his throat lightly – knowing that the man was a light sleeper and therefore he would look up the moment he heard Desmond behind him. He was right.

"What?"

Desmond smiled faintly, approaching as Clay mumbled somewhat disgruntledly under his breath, pushing himself up and propping himself on his elbow to gaze at the brunet as he entered.

"Did I wake you?" Desmond couldn't resist asking. Clay didn't look very impressed, and he arched an eyebrow at the younger man when he sat himself down on his own set of blankets in front of him.

"What do you think, Miles?"

"I think you've been awake this whole time and you faked being tired out there so you wouldn't have to put up with any more bullshit for the night," Desmond replied cheerily. Clay snorted faintly at that, though the grin on his lips confirmed it.

"Ok so you got me. You want a medal or something?"

Desmond shrugged off his hoodie, letting it fall to the ground as he made a show of attempting to think over that proposal.

"Yep. Gold, preferably. Y'know, seeing as I'm better than you." His grin matched Clay's own as the blond snickered quietly to himself.

"In your dreams, Desmond."

"You know it."

Clay threw the pillow he'd previously been resting his head on at Desmond, the younger man laughing as he caught it and swung it right back at the blond, narrowly missing his face much to his chagrin. Clay grabbed it and then sighed as he placed it back down again, getting himself comfortable (or as comfortable as he could) and laying out on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, still smiling as Desmond made to lie down himself.

"Big day for you tomorrow."

Clay looked over at Desmond, raising a brow.

"Oh absolutely. It's my first major assignment since getting carted off to Abstergo. Can't afford to fuck this one up."

Desmond chuckled.

"Hey, it'll only take you… what… ten seconds? You'd definitely better not."

Clay smiled, shrugging his shoulders and turning his gaze back to the ceiling again.

"No promises."

Desmond smiled at that, trailing off into silence for a minute as he receded momentarily into his own thoughts. Presently he heard Clay address him again, and he turned his attention back to him.

"You know I have to say I thought that would turn ugly out there… with Juno and all that…"

Desmond's smile promptly faded.

"So did I," he admitted quietly. "Now it just puts even more pressure on me to try and stay sane for long enough."

He heard the sound of movement and someone shifting their weight on the blankets, and he didn't need to look at Clay to know that the man had sat himself up and was watching him intently. He sighed.

"And before you ask, no I don't know how long it'll take until I get that key. And no I don't know when Juno is going to pop up again. Is she actually alive down here like Rebecca seems to think? Who fucking knows. Anything goes at this point."

He looked at Clay then, and Desmond had the distinct feeling that the man had been on the verge of asking something entirely different, but nevertheless he had remained silent and had nodded. Desmond was going to ask if there was something the other man had wanted to say when he was interrupted.

"You're right. Anything goes. But if all it takes is knocking off a couple of guys one by one then you're definitely going to find it sooner than either of us think." Clay's tone was reassuring, but try as he might Desmond just couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"Yeah… I guess…" He offered a faint smile and closed his eyes.

There was another lapse of silence.

"Still, Brazil might be nice…"

Desmond was grateful for the change in subject.

"You ever been there?"

"Nah." Clay chuckled. "My dad went though, for a work conference. I must've been about… fifteen? He sent me a postcard. I threw it in the trash as soon as I got it."

Desmond was unable to hold back the snort of laughter that left his lips.

"I'm sure he was happy with that."

"Oh he was. So happy he grounded me for a week when he got back home. It was worth it." Clay joined Desmond in laughing as he looked back at the brunet, and his smile softened faintly when he saw the anxiety edge away ever so slightly from his eyes. He felt a gentle rush of satisfaction surge through him at that; subtle and rewarding.

He looked back at the ceiling again, his blue eyes trailing over the symbols etched into the rock and stone of the temple walls. He wondered what they meant, these sigils carved everywhere. Whether they told stories of the First Civilisation's lives on Earth, the stories of their attempts to save humanity from the first solar flare or whether it was of their tragic defeat… or if they simply meant nothing at all.

He wondered if he should ask Desmond. He thought about it for a minute, and eventually he decided he should just go with it. He looked back at the younger man only to pause just as he'd opened his mouth to speak; Desmond's eyes were closed, and it was clear from the gentle rise and fall of his chest that he'd slipped into sleep. Clay arched a brow, thinking to himself that that hadn't taken very long at all. He watched for a moment, his body tense and alert, as if worried that Juno herself might somehow suddenly appear directly before him.

But the more he waited, the more he realised that there didn't appear to be any sign of her. Desmond was still sleeping normally, and he hadn't begun to thrash or whimper names under his breath like he normally would have at about this time. Wondering if tonight might just be a miracle in that it would be the first night since being freed from the animus that he would get a proper uninterrupted sleep, Clay didn't want to let any of it go to waste.

He settled back, made himself comfortable, closed his eyes, and within a few minutes of listening to Desmond's gentle breathing he'd slipped into unconsciousness, sleep taking hold.

* * *

What woke him up was the sound of someone crying out.

His eyes snapped open, his muscles tense as he sat up, blue eyes wide and very much awake as he instinctively trained his gaze on Desmond. Fear laced with anger and pain clawed at his emotions, and he stood up and dusted himself off as he walked over to the writhing brunet, Desmond's brows knotted together and his scarred lips open and panting as he shook his head.

Strangled groans filtered from his mouth, Desmond's features twisting repeatedly over and over into a look filled with more suffering, more disquiet than the last. Clay grit his teeth, a shaky sigh escaping him as he was powerless to do anything except stand there and watch, torn between wanting to help but knowing at the same time that he couldn't.

He didn't know how long he'd been sleeping for, but what he did know was that Juno was back. Her name gasped from Desmond's lips, the man's skin plastered with cold sweat. His blankets were coiling around his body like a snake as he twisted repeatedly onto his back and his side. He'd seen him like this many times, but there was a limit as to how much of this Clay could take.

Tonight he'd reached that limit and he leant down, resting a hand gently on the man's shoulder, shaking him in some vain attempt to wake him up. Desmond continued to remain unresponsive, groaning something unintelligible. A tear rolled down his cheek. Clay swallowed the dry lump in his throat as he wiped it away from Desmond's face, his skin hot to the touch - almost feverish.

"Desmond…" He whispered hoarsely. "Wake up. Snap out of it." He shook him a little more forcefully on the shoulder.

Desmond writhed once more.

" _N-no…"_

He didn't know what he was saying 'no' to, but if Juno was involved, Clay could hazard a guess. He bit back the need to yell, to cry out, to scream, to do _anything_ to tell her to leave him the fuck alone… but he couldn't. He couldn't because he didn't know if it would somehow hurt Desmond in some way. It was stupid, but he had no other choice but to curb his anger and try and help him in a civil manner.

He shook him again, biting his lip.

"Desmond… wake up. _Please_ …"

He didn't even try to mask how scared he sounded.

And then Desmond's eyes snapped open – they darted unseeingly left and right, bloodshot, frantic and wild. Clay sucked in a breath sharply; Desmond had clasped his hand bruisingly tightly around his wrist, so tightly in fact that Clay could feel the circulation in his arm almost cut off. He didn't make a move to push his hand away though. Desmond had gasped out something. Something which had made the blond freeze, his blood turning to ice within his very veins.

" _C-Clay…"_

And just like that, Clay felt the last of his self-restraint crumble away, just as it did every time Desmond would cry his name in his sleep. Only this time, it was more pained, more desperate than the other times.

He moved his hand, finally managing to slide it out of Desmond's grasp as he wrapped his fingers tightly through the younger man's own, trying to give him some kind of comfort even through his waking nightmare. Desmond was shaking, his eyes continuing to dart unseeingly back and forth. He wasn't focused – lost in his nightmare as he was.

" _Clay…"_

"I'm here, Des." It took a great effort to get those words out, Clay's mouth refusing to co-operate at first. Desmond scrambled for his hand, trying to wrap his fingers even further around the blond's own. Clay let him, tightening his hold on Desmond's hand as he did so.

" _I… I don't… she's… I need to find… the key…"_

"And you will. That's why we're here."

A strangled whimper escaped Desmond's lips.

" _I can… feel her eyes… she's watching… everywhere… she won't… she won't leave me alone… I'm scared… I'm scared… I don't want…"_

Clay closed his eyes, trying to keep some semblance of calm, trying to keep some semblance of _sanity_ as his friend's broken words filtered through his ears. The rants, the ravings... it was too similar to what he'd gone through in Abstergo. All of it.

"Then don't… you can't give in."

Desmond cried out, almost screaming – his voice high as if it were the wailings of a man being tortured. Clay was shaking.

" _Clay… I don't… help me… please…"_

The tears dripped down Desmond's cheeks, his hold on the blond's hand trembling as he panted thickly for air. It was already too much. His next five words only reconfirmed the need for Clay to put a stop to this.

" _I don't want to die…"_

Clay wrenched his hand out of Desmond's grip and he shook the younger man again, even gripping his cheek to try and move his head so he was looking at him.

"Desmond, wake up! C'mon!" He'd raised his voice, ignoring the hoarseness in his tone, the shaking way in which his words spilled from his lips. Desmond remained unresponsive, locked in his vivid nightmare. Clay tried again, louder this time.

"Desmond!"

Still nothing. He was getting desperate.

" _DESMOND, WAKE UP!"_

Desmond groaned, his limbs falling slack for a brief moment until he blinked; once, twice, three times more. Then he lurched forwards, panting as he gripped his head and shook it, grumbling something scathing under his breath. Clay exhaled sharply, relief sweeping over him in waves.

_Thank god._

Desmond lifted a hand to his head and rubbed his brow, blinking blearily up at the blond standing over him. He winced.

"Clay?" He rasped out, sounding as if he hadn't had water for three days. Clay managed to force a smile, or as close to a smile as he could manage given the circumstances. He moved his hand, clapping Desmond lightly on the shoulder.

"Take it easy. You ok?"

Desmond nodded, still trying to refocus his gaze as he slurred over his words. He swallowed, still panting faintly.

"Yeah I… I think so. What happened?"

Clay frowned, the blond masking the fear in his blue eyes perfectly with a look of concern instead.

"You don't remember?" He managed to keep his voice steady, too. At any other time he would have congratulated himself on that, but now he was more concerned with not giving Desmond anything else to worry about.

"No… I just... I just went to sleep and then you woke me up…" Desmond's brows knotted tightly together again. "Why _did_ you wake me up?"

For a moment Clay debated whether or not to tell him. After all, sometimes the truth was easier to get out than a lie. But he couldn't possibly ever admit to him the truth... not about this, at least. So he lied.

"I didn't. You woke yourself up. It looked like you were having a nightmare again… you were thrashing about all over the place."

Desmond held his gaze for a minute longer, looking like he was about to question those words before he stopped himself. If he sensed Clay was lying, he didn't mention anything about it. Rather he took it in stride, nodding and groaning again as he gripped his head.

"Sorry about that…"

Clay waved it off, clasping his hand reassuringly around Desmond's shoulder again before taking a step back.

"Don't worry about it. I'm heading out for a sec to do that surveillance seeing as I'm up now. If you need anything, you know where to find me." He turned around. He wasn't expecting Desmond to say anything else, so he was surprised when he heard the man speaking up faintly to him when he'd reached the doorway.

"It was Juno… wasn't it?"

Clay paused, turning around and eyeing Desmond warily for a minute.

"You really don't remember, do you?" He asked quietly. Desmond shook his head. Clay sighed, drumming his fingertips against the doorframe. He bowed his head, pulling away and walking out towards the corridor.

"Yeah."

He left, not giving Desmond any more answer than that, but knowing then and there that he wouldn't need to.

The temple was cold – colder than it normally was – as he walked along, and as he approached the tunnel which led to the outside world Clay found himself dearly wishing he had another jacket to put on. His fingertips were starting to turn blue and he flexed his hands, curling them into fists and rubbing them together to try and get the blood flow back again. He was determined to not let any thoughts of Desmond's nightmares plague him as he set about doing his work. The sooner he could finish up here after all, the sooner he could go back inside and check up on him. But for now... now he had to focus.

He jogged up towards the cave entrance, seeing the first rays of sunlight dance across the treetops of the outside the further he got to the top, and when he stepped out into the fields above he found himself momentarily stunned by what he saw. With melancholy weighing heavily in his heart, he realised that it had been well over two years since he'd last seen a sunrise. He stood rooted to the spot, breathing in the crisp morning air, dew dotting the grass around him as the sun began to climb its ascent through the sky – its rays a warm glow of brilliant oranges, reds and muted purples. It was silent on the farmland around him, not even the sound of the cars on the highway audible at this time of morning.

_Focus, Clay._

He sighed heavily, forcing himself to turn his eyes away though it pained him to do so. He had a job to do, and he intended to do it. He began to trek around the clearing by the trees, heading towards the van. He knew that Rebecca had kept some monitoring cameras set up in there for whenever she came out here to do surveillance, and he saw them inside the camouflaged vehicle as he drew up to its window. He dusted the tree branches off it, heading around towards the back and pulling open the doors, climbing inside. Everything of value had already been cleared out and left down below in the temple, and it was only those cameras that remained inside. Rebecca had cleverly designed them such that they would only appear to be a watch – left behind on the driver's seat.

As he picked up the watch and fastened it on his wrist, he had to hand it to the woman's bold ingenuity. He pressed the small button on the side, and he glanced at the watch face as it blurred and buzzed to life – two small black discs flying out of its sides and buzzing around his head like drones. They flew off and he waited there, watching the screen and the video feed the drones provided as they darted to and fro around the farmland.

So far, so good. There was no sign of interference anywhere, and there didn't appear to be anyone around except for him. Clay exhaled slowly, allowing himself to feel somewhat relieved by that. That meant they had more time here. But it also meant that the longer they stayed, the quicker Abstergo would ultimately catch up to them.

As he listened to the silence around him, he tried not to think about that last part.

He stayed out there for ten more minutes, the sun still steadily rising in the sky – its golden rays filtering over the treetops to glance off the grass covered fields around. Having finished with his surveillance and feeling satisfied that everyone was safe for now, he pressed the button on the side of the watch again – the drones returning and nestling neatly back in place along either side of the watch face. He removed it from his wrist, placed it back on the driver's seat, closed the door of the van and then replaced the covering of branches over the top of it.

Then he turned around and headed back towards the temple entrance.

On the way over however, he stopped.

He wasn't quite sure what it was at first, but what he _did_ know was that something compelled him to stay. He thought it was perhaps instinct – after all, having been as off the rails as he'd been back in Abstergo, he found he'd been a lot more paranoid and distrusting of things around him. He thought he'd heard something snap and break behind him; perhaps a branch falling loose from the boughs of its tree. Still… he couldn't be too careful.

He backtracked slowly, heading back out to the clearing. He stood still, completely and utterly motionless for a couple of minutes, hoping he'd somehow catch sound or sight of whatever it was that had alerted him. His body was tense, his senses hyperaware. He still didn't see anything… but there were always other ways to identify an otherwise invisible source. He closed his eyes, focusing as he tried to relax his mind enough to call on his Eagle Vision.

It wasn't as polished as Desmond's, that was for sure – he'd even admitted to the man himself after all that he couldn't keep it up for very long until his vision started to swim and the blistering pain rocketed through his skull. But practice _did_ make perfect, and with a bit of luck, ten seconds would be all he'd need.

When he opened his eyes, the world met him in shades of muted greys and blurred shadows. His brain started to numb, and he lifted a hand to press to his brow to take his mind off the uncomfortable sensation as he glanced around him. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, the world entirely grey. After a few seconds though he thought perhaps for a moment that he saw a dulled red glow in the corner of his sight, and as he turned to face the direction of where he saw it, walking steadily nearer to the source, it disappeared entirely. He wondered what it could have been, but as it was clearly not a threat (as otherwise his retinas would have been blinded by an overwhelming shade of crimson), he let it slide. He groaned, already feeling his eyes start to prickle, sending shots of pain surging into his skull and he quickly squeezed his eyes shut, trying his hardest to make himself relax enough to return his sight back to normal.

His eyes watered when he opened them again, colour now fully restored and everything crystal clear once more. He cussed under his breath, doubling over and rubbing his eyes, taking deep breaths as he grit his teeth against the agony in his brain. He honestly didn't know how Desmond could deal with that as smoothly as he did, but then again… it was Altaïr he had to thank for that. He'd been one of the first to perfect his unique sixth sense, whereas Ezio was a poor master to learn from in terms of Eagle Vision – mainly because the time that Clay had spent in the Italian assassin's shoes was far less than the time that Desmond had had with him. The brunet had gone through Altaïr first, and after him anything with Ezio was a walk in the park in terms of that little 'gift'. As for Clay, well… there was only so much someone could learn in such a short amount of time.

But despite this, he'd learnt that he only had his paranoia to be wary of – there was no immediate danger. Feeling satisfied by what he had gleaned, he straightened himself back up, blinked away the dots swimming across his vision, and he began to make his way back towards the temple entrance. Looking back behind him however, Clay's eyes were drawn once more to the early morning sunrise. He bit his lip, knowing that he should head back inside to check up on Desmond but at the same time… his heart ached, and he had the distinct feeling that if he wasted this chance now, it would have been a waste of perhaps the only chance he had left.

Making his decision he strode forwards, sitting himself down on the nearby hillock. He rested his hands behind his back, running the grass through his fingers, and he tilted his head upwards as he watched the sun rise.


	12. Chapter 12

Between the constant surveillance being kept outside, Clay taking the morning shifts and Rebecca the nights – they were able to remain undetected as they worked in the temple. Desmond had lost count of the days that had passed since that night when he'd woken up from what Clay had claimed had been a nightmare (Desmond honestly didn't recall dreaming anything of the sort), but one thing was for certain… it wasn't the last time that Juno had visited him.

It had happened three more times since then.

It would start off the same as always; he'd hear her voice, disembodied and hauntingly close by as if she was whispering right next to his ears. Then the room would turn gold, holograms forming before his very eyes as she showed him visions of her peoples' defeat. Then at last she would show herself, and though her eyes appeared cold, dead – he would always feel her gaze boring directly into him, making him feel small, insignificant under her calculating and cruel gaze. Even though she spoke of salvation, it was impossible to ignore the way her lips would curl in disgust whenever she spoke of humans. It was impossible to shy away from her roaming stare, and her words hurt like the lash of a whip as she hissed to him, blaming _him_ and him alone for the faults of humanity.

He felt she had some kind of personal vendetta against him, but whenever he would tell Clay about this the two would always come to the same conclusion – neither of them knew what the hell was going on. Clay would ask him to try and forget about it anyway, and Desmond would always eagerly agree.

To attempt to take his mind off things to the best of his ability, he put more effort into his animus sessions. The lack of news concerning Abstergo's current location was both a relief and yet also worrying – after all on the one hand they had the freedom to do as they wished at this current moment in time… but on the other hand, this was clearly only the calm before the inevitable storm.

Desmond sincerely hoped that he could find the key before said storm managed to hit them.

He had progressed through Connor's memories to the point where he'd taken out Pitcairn, Hickey and Church, and all that was left to go through were both Haytham and Charles Lee himself. Charles had the amulet now – he was sure of it. Connor had formed a brief alliance with Haytham and during the time the pair worked together to track down Church it was blatantly obvious that the key was nowhere on Haytham's person. On one of those many sleepless nights aboard the Aquila, Connor had even rifled through Haytham's belongings in the vain hope that he might find it. There was no such luck.

However, despite this setback Desmond remained hopeful that the amulet would be in his grasp (or at least, it's location) by the end of this week or the next, provided the trip to Brazil went smoothly. Rebecca had booked the flights for them – they'd all be leaving in the early hours of the morning on Sunday the 2nd, which was this coming Sunday. He and Clay both wished that they could postpone the trip at least for a little while longer, but the power reserves in the temple were starting to wane, and Desmond's sessions in the animus had been halved in order to preserve what little amounts of power they had left.

Sighing, he rubbed his brow with his hands and looked at his computer, his emails open as he checked through the various messages Clay, Shaun, Rebecca and his father had sent back and forth to the group over the course of the past month. He'd been amused to find that Clay had his own account set up (though of course under Mark's name), and he was going to ask the blond when that had happened but stopped himself at the last minute. Clay was a genius when it came to computers, so something like this would have only taken him all of five seconds to do when no one was looking. It was child's play. Not to mention it looked legitimate enough – picture ID, email address and all.

He scanned the long list of messages he'd received, skimming over them and not paying any particular attention to his father's chiding remarks to Shaun to get himself back on track when he and Rebecca had sent a few off-topic words to one another. Clay had managed to sneak in a few snarky comments here and there, a smile twitching at Desmond's lips when he read over them - even more so when he saw that Clay had sent them to him specifically so as to avoid getting in trouble with William and the others. He was looking at a message Shaun had sent him some time after the argument Desmond had had with his father in the temple here when a small message box flashed on screen, indicating that he'd just received another email.

Scrolling up he didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly exasperated when he saw that Clay had just sent him something.

_Finally checking your inbox?_

He sighed quietly to himself as he typed up a response and sent it off.

_You're sitting at the computer behind me. Any reason why you had to email me this?_

He heard Clay snicker to himself a few seconds later and he turned his head, arching an eyebrow in Clay's direction. The blond was leaning back in Shaun's seat, grinning at his screen. He lifted his head, waved at Desmond and typed something down before folding his arms behind his head and looking at Desmond with a pointed expression.

Desmond looked back at his screen, seeing the blond's response.

 _Yes, but where's the fun in talking face to face? Trick question: there_ _isn't_ _any because old papa Miles out there hates joy and feeds on it like a Dementor. He'll suck our souls out if we're not careful._

Desmond considered that for a moment.

_A Dementor? Seriously? You've read Harry Potter?_

He waited a few seconds for Clay to type up a reply.

_Shut up. My little nieces loved it and made me read it to them every night before bed._

Desmond smiled at that.

_Dementor approaching._

He blinked, seeing the new message flash on screen and he lifted his head just in time to see his father walk towards him from the bridge; William had been studying the gate at the end for the past few minutes or so. Desmond quickly minimised his screen and turned around to face him, crossing his arms over his chest. He tried to ignore Clay smirking a few feet away.

"What's wrong, dad?"

William looked at the screen behind Desmond but didn't comment, instead returning his gaze to his son and clearing his throat.

"You ready for the trip in a few days?" He asked. Desmond nodded; this Sunday was the day they'd be leaving. They would be heading for the airport at 4 in the morning for preparation for their flight at 6:30am. If all went well, they'd be in São Paulo by around 3 in the afternoon, give or take a couple of hours. Seeing as today was a Thursday, Desmond had spent some time over the past couple of days preparing things here and there. Not that he had any personal belongings to prepare – but mentally, he needed all the time he could take to rest.

William clapped him on the shoulder, managing a faint smile and walking away. Desmond stared at him. He heard movement and he looked up to see Clay walking over.

"Kinda creepy, don't you think?"

"What, him being nice to me for once?" Desmond asked wearily. Clay nodded. Desmond managed a faint chuckle, sighing and rubbing his head.

"You can say that again." He turned back around, bringing up his emails again and continuing to scroll through the ones he hadn't had time to read yet. Clay watched him, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets as he waited.

"I can't believe you. Dementors? Really?"

Clay laughed, grinning rather self-satisfactorily as Desmond shook his head.

"The resemblance is uncanny, come on. You have to agree with me on this."

"I don't have to agree with you on anything."

"But you do, though."

Desmond paused.

"Yeah, I do."

Clay grinned, nudging Desmond in the shoulder with his elbow and snickering again as Desmond returned his grin. Another minute of quiet passed, Clay simply allowing Desmond to catch up on his emails (this was the first time he'd properly checked them, after all). After about five minutes or so however, Desmond stopped, his hand freezing over the laptop keys.

His eyes had widened, and the longer he stood riveted to the screen, the longer he felt fear – cold, absolute and unrelenting – grip at his heart.

"What's wrong?" Clay had noticed the sudden change in mood, the unexpected shift in Desmond's stance as he stood there.

Desmond nodded to the computer, his throat dry as he uneasily forced the words out of his mouth.

"She's… sending me emails."

Clay didn't need Desmond to explain further to understand who 'she' was. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing and his mouth pursing into a hard line as he stood next to Desmond, looking over his shoulder at the screen. As soon as he saw the highlighted email, he felt the blood drain from his face.

_#* )) *$*$ &&$K#JSJD_$JDJ)JFJEEJIER_#_##_%*%#(_*(#_()R$U%#%*#(WSL:S:SFKFJ_

_KLFLKH _$*_

_#HRJ#H$**_ _?SS3W:KF#)RJK_ #j_R#J__

_JR_#RJ_JEJFEPJOE"A _R$K$A}PQOE'"OKLXO#)UEEFJH2# *()# &*HWSF11SDQ_

_PWIOER#)NSFHHWPQPQOWIQE_MCBCNB%^^*()O25KHF2=-4D4_

_SAKHDSAHF023974RDASJJ ^ &*$^#_._

_._

_hello_

He looked at Desmond.

"How the hell did this happen?!" He didn't care how unnerved he sounded. Desmond took a step back, his lips parting and closing as if he was trying to get the words on the tip of his tongue but lost track of what he was going to say at the last minute. In the end he gazed helplessly at the blond.

"I don't know…"

Clay lifted his hands and clenched them tightly in his hair.

" _Shit!_ " He cussed sharply. Desmond drew his attention back to the screen, what last sliver of hope he had left now fading away completely and becoming swallowed thickly by despair as he saw the next email after that one.

He nudged Clay in the shoulder, directing the man's attention back to the screen. Clay groaned as soon as he looked down.

_it works i should hardly be surprised electrical impulses move from one pathway to another you call them networks our word for them was more akin to road it is yet difficult to project a thought from one medium to another and yet it works it works it works it works_

"This is great… this is just _fucking_ great," Clay hissed. Desmond couldn't say anything – he couldn't even _think_ of anything to justify the anger, the unease he was feeling right now. But most of all – he was scared. He was terrified. Juno didn't intend to leave him alone, that much was blatantly clear now. Once she'd grabbed hold of him… she wasn't letting go. Not until she got what she wanted.

 _What_ does _she want?_

He had a few ideas, and none of them pleasant.

He went to shut down the computer, feeling as if he would be sick if he kept looking at that a minute longer. As he dropped his gaze to the ground, he realised he felt empty inside, strangely hollow. Like he'd been sapped of all emotion in those horrifying few seconds. He'd noticed Clay beginning to pace back and forth in front of him, and it was that which forced him to regain some semblance of control over himself once more.

He wouldn't be able to put a stop to this if he just stood around feeling sorry for himself after all.

"Hey, maybe she'll email me a map and directions to that artefact in Brazil?"

Clay shot Desmond a dark look, showing him that he didn't think his comment was either funny or helpful. Desmond sighed again.

_Can't say I didn't try._

"Here's what we're going to have to do…" Clay crossed his arms over his chest, looking pained as he forced himself to say what it was that he clearly didn't want to say. "Since it's apparently impossible to ignore her, you're just going to have to let her keep emailing you and talking to you at night."

Desmond nodded; he'd known that from the start.

"Hopefully she slips up and gives away some useful info somewhere along the line."

"You mean other than her undying hatred for humanity?" Desmond quipped drily. Clay managed a coarse chuckle.

"Other than that, yes."

Desmond was silent for a minute, deep in thought as he mulled over Clay's words.

"She's not going to slip up."

Clay smiled weakly.

"I know."

Desmond glanced back at his computer momentarily, a slightly wistful expression entering his brown eyes.

"You sure I can't email her back to ask for directions in Brazil—"

"Not funny, Desmond."

Despite himself Desmond laughed, clapping Clay on the shoulder as he walked away.

"I'll ask Shaun then."

The irritated grumble Clay elicited in response to that made Desmond smile, his mood lightening somewhat – if only for a short time. At least it took his mind off the countless more emails he knew Juno would be sending him.

Once she started, she never stopped. In fact, it probably would _never_ stop until Desmond was dead.

With a grim smile, he wondered if that wasn't what she wanted in the first place.

* * *

The next few days passed by with thankfully no incidents. Incidents outside of the ordinary, at least. Desmond had continued with his last animus session Friday evening, and had gone to bed with a clear mind and a clear conscience; he hoped that it would help him get his bearings better the next day, seeing as they would be leaving in the early morning.

Clay had brought everyone else up to date with the email situation when Desmond had left to get some rest, and he'd reported back to him on Saturday morning that they understood what was going on. So this was where Desmond found himself now that same Saturday afternoon, sitting in front of his father, Rebecca and Shaun as they told him to give them the details.

"Mark told us what was going on. Do you know when she started sending you these emails?" William asked, a sliver of concern hidden under the gruff tone of his voice. Desmond sighed.

"A couple of days ago." In fact the more he thought about the dates on the emails she'd sent, he realised that it had started about the same time she'd first appeared to him in his sleep. That thought put him on edge, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Fascinating…" Shaun mused. Desmond shot him a dark look, Clay doing likewise from where he was leaning against the wall a few feet away, keeping his distance from the rest of the group. When asked why by the others, he'd only said that he'd already told them all he could.

"Can we keep on track here please, Shaun?" Desmond muttered. Shaun ignored the comment, the Brit clearing his throat as he made to speak up again.

"Maybe she might start emailing the rest of us?"

"You know what, that'd be a _great_ idea. That way I won't have to put up with her all the time." Desmond didn't care for how annoyed he sounded – the fact that Shaun wasn't concerned about this at all was enough to make his blood boil.

"It's happened, and that's that. Leave it alone, you two," William interjected before their argument escalated. "It's not important right now. What _is_ important however is getting to Brazil in one piece. Do you have your tickets, Desmond?"

He nodded.

"Yeah I have everything all set." He'd just need himself, his bag and his ticket and fake passport, courtesy of William and Shaun. They'd managed to obtain one for Clay as well; both of them had been given new names. Desmond's alias was one Drew Allan, and Clay would be going as Patrick Morse. They were university students studying a semester abroad in Brazil from America – they looked young enough and they were old enough to still be considered postgraduates.

Shaun and Rebecca had both been given their own personas as well, with the two of them acting as a married couple; Shaun being a neurosurgeon and Rebecca a novelist. She'd been disgusted at first when William had pitched the idea to her, but eventually she had conceded. After all, when the fate of the world was in the balance here one couldn't afford to be too picky.

"We'll be leaving here at four sharp," Rebecca announced, looking up from her computer. "So the rest of you had better make sure you have everything as well, not just Desmond."

"We'll only be gone for a day at most," Shaun rolled his eyes. Rebecca looked at him from over her screen.

"If you have everything sorted out already I can easily rebook the flight to leave right now if you want, Shaun."

He threw his hands up.

"Fine, fine!" He retorted, sounding exasperated. Clay chose that moment to walk over, sitting down next to Desmond and murmuring quietly by his ear.

"They're really fitting their roles, I have to admit."

Desmond tried to hide the slight twitch of his lips upwards, a grin threatening to make itself known. He couldn't help but agree – there were many times when both Shaun and Rebecca would seem to act out the part of a married and bickering couple almost without trying, and right now was no exception.

"Give them a couple of minutes together in the same row on the flight and you'll _really_ see what they're capable of," he answered, snickering quietly behind his hand as he raised it to cover his mouth for a second. Clay had to cough to cover up the brief snort of laughter which escaped him, the blond quickly regaining his composure and standing himself upright when he caught the others staring at him.

"You all good there, Mark?" William arched an eyebrow. Clay smiled, nodding and acting as if nothing had happened.

"Absolutely."

Desmond refocused his attention back on his father.

"You're not bringing anything?" He nodded towards the lack of any kind of luggage the man had on his person – everyone else had a few bits and pieces thrown together on top of the animus. William returned his son's gaze.

"I'm not going."

Desmond stared at him.

"Of course."

"What? I thought you said you'd go with us?" Rebecca turned her head, sounding as incredulous as she looked.

"Someone needs to stay here and ensure Abstergo don't locate our whereabouts. Besides, there's two people too many going over to Brazil. This should be something both Desmond and Mark are capable of doing by themselves."

That made Rebecca fall silent, Shaun also giving the matter some thought if the way he stroked his chin was anything to go by.

"Even so, our tickets are already booked. Besides, I haven't been to Brazil yet," he ended up replying a moment later. Rebecca rolled her eyes, William meanwhile arching an eyebrow again in something that could have resembled vague amusement.

"Just go over there and get the job done and don't screw it up." Then he turned his back and walked away. The remaining four remained sitting where they were, the group exchanging quick glances here and there.

"Shaun, go get packed," Rebecca spoke up again. Shaun nodded, lifting himself from his seat and striding towards the corridors where no doubt his room was. Desmond was unsuccessful this time in hiding his smirk, and he momentarily bowed his head to hide his smile from Rebecca sitting a few feet away.

"Have you booked a return flight?" Clay asked. Rebecca looked at him, Desmond also lifting his head again with renewed interest at that question. He'd been wondering that himself.

"No, because I don't know how long it'll take you two to locate that power source. I'll be able to charter a flight at any time though, don't worry," she answered, somewhat stiffly. Desmond resisted the urge to roll his eyes; she was still giving Clay the cold shoulder but at least she was using more than one sentence at a time with him now. Clay appeared unperturbed.

"Why not get one of our contacts to fly us over there?" Desmond asked. Rebecca turned her gaze to him.

"Can't on the way over – it's too risky. Besides, if we want to throw Abstergo off our trail we'll have to make ourselves known publicly. They have access to all the passport info that floats in and out of airports everyday when people check in and board flights. Not to mention they'd no doubt have their own agents in amongst the customs workers at the airports themselves."

"So by getting us to show our faces and our forged passports at the airport _first_ , it'll lead them to believe we've headed over to Brazil and fled the country and hopefully they'll all pack up and leave and go focus their search over there while we give them the slip on a private jet back home," Clay explained, to which Rebecca nodded. The blond appeared to consider this for a moment, arms crossed over his chest as he leant his back against the wall.

"That's so flawed."

Rebecca's brow visibly twitched and she rounded on him.

"I'd like to see _you_ come up with a better idea!" She hissed. Desmond stood from his seat then, arms raised to get them to be quiet.

"Ok that's enough you two," he murmured quietly. "It's flawed but it's the only plan we've got. We'll just have to make it work."

"How will it work? They'll see right through it."

Desmond looked at Clay.

"We'll just have to make it work," he repeated. Clay stared at him for a few seconds, clearly looking as if he'd very much like to argue that, but eventually he sighed and nodded, forcing a smile on his lips.

"Alright then."

Rebecca sighed then, burying her head in her hands as she rubbed her brow.

"I suppose I could… I dunno, hack into the terminal and make sure that our passport information doesn't get sent off to Abstergo...?"

"I'll do it." Both Rebecca and Desmond looked up at Clay who had spoken again, the blond already moving to sit down in Shaun's vacated seat. He booted up the computer, working on typing away at the login screen when it flashed up on the monitor a moment later.

"Really? What makes you think you'd be able to—"

"Do you forget who I am, Rebecca?" There was a hard bite to Clay's voice as he lifted his gaze ever so slowly to lock eyes on her.

Rebecca froze at that, the woman looking uncomfortable. Clay then turned his attention back to the screen, his fingers tapping away at the keys with well-practised rhythm as he typed something here and clicked there. Desmond whistled lowly under his breath, the air seeming to have been sucked out of his lungs at the tension which had settled thickly over the group when Clay had spoken those words. He looked over at Rebecca to see if she was alright, and he didn't know whether to feel relieved or concerned in that she didn't look upset… but neither did she look overly happy, either. She was simply sitting at her seat, glancing down at her fingers as they wrung together in front of her.

He was about to walk over to her to ask if she was ok when she stood up, her eyes centred on the blond.

"How could I? So when you're finished feeding your fucked up glyphs into the terminal's computers maybe you could stop acting like you're the one in charge here? The world doesn't revolve around you, Sixteen. Not anymore." She narrowed her eyes on him before sighing, the hard look in her gaze softening back over as she shook her head. Then, offering a pained smile to him, she nodded.

"Just... keep it simple, Clay."

Then she turned around and left, excusing herself after making comment that she'd be checking on the van.

Desmond's eyes widened and he stared at her, his mouth agape.

"Rebecca!" He called out, his tone desperate. She didn't reply. He then glanced down at Clay who had noticeably paused in his typing, the blond not looking at Rebecca's retreating figure – but it was obvious that her words had affected him. There was a slightly unfocused look in his blue eyes, and a hand had clenched over the keyboard.

"I'll be right ba—"

"Leave her. She'll be fine," Clay answered, his tone clipped. He went back to typing. Desmond wasn't so sure; he turned his head to look back at the direction of the tunnel entrance she was heading towards, all the while wanting to believe Clay's words but at the same time… he didn't know if he could. In the end though, he settled for staying. He'd never seen Rebecca like this before but what he _did_ know was that the look in her eyes before she had taken off clearly stated that she was deeply unsettled. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself as he took a seat, burying his head in his hands.

_This got fucked up so quickly._

The gentle tapping of the keys on the computer did nothing to help quell his anxiety.

"You sure about that?" He found himself asking quietly. Clay continued to type.

"Yeah."

Desmond nodded. He honestly didn't know why he'd bothered saying anything, seeing as Clay _was_ at fault here. He wanted to tell the blond that there was no need for him to have said that to Rebecca, but he remained silent. He didn't need to blow this out of even more proportion than it already was. He just hoped that Rebecca would be ok like Clay said she would.

"How's it coming along there?" He asked, almost silently. He found it hard to keep conversation at that present moment in time, but it was either that or the maddening silence of the temple halls. He preferred the former.

Clay tapped away at the keyboard again and then sat back, standing from his seat and stretching his arms above his head.

"All done."

Desmond looked at him.

"Already?"

Clay fixed him with a look that clearly suggested that Desmond shouldn't be surprised, and he shoved his hands back into his jacket pockets. He just nodded, not bothering to reply with words.

Desmond shrugged, finding his hands suddenly quite interesting as he wrung them together in front of him at the desk. Presently he heard footsteps and he lifted his head, turning around to see who it was. Part of him hoped it was Rebecca, but at the same time he thought it more likely to be either his father or Shaun. So he wasn't entirely surprised when he saw it was indeed Shaun returning, carrying a small laptop case with him.

"Just got my passport and documents in here as well as my laptop," he announced when he saw the gazes being tossed his way from the two other occupants of the sanctum. He looked around. "Where'd Rebecca get off to?"

"She's taking a moment," Clay answered smoothly. Shaun apparently didn't need any more explanation than that, as he simply nodded and went to place his bag down on top of the other bits and pieces resting haphazardly over the animus.

"Were you using my computer?" The Brit asked, tossing a sidewards glance at the screen which was still running. Clay nodded.

"I was making things a bit slower for Abstergo. The terminal's been fed some new software."

Shaun lifted his head then to give the blond his full attention, now looking very impressed indeed. He whistled lowly under his breath.

"Really? Was it Rebecca's idea?"

Clay managed a faint smile.

"Yeah."

Shaun nodded, stroking his chin idly.

"Great. Well thanks for that, Mark. I'll be sure to give her my gratitude when she gets back, too." He resumed his seat at his computer. There was another brief silence, Desmond exhaling slowly and standing up to walk over to the blond.

"I think it'd be nice if you apologised to her later on," he muttered lowly under his breath so Shaun wouldn't overhear. Clay didn't respond, the man instead glancing down at the ground and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Presently he gave a stiff nod.

"Normally I'd punch you in the face for talking to me like I'm a pre-schooler like that, Miles but… what can I say? Ok, fine. So I was a bit out of line. But if you think I was being childish, she needs to finally accept the fact that I'm staying here whether she likes it or not."

"That just made you seem even more childish."

Clay gave a dry smile.

"It did, didn't it?"

"What are we talking about?"

Both men turned their attention back towards Shaun, who had lifted his head and looked over at the two. Clay and Desmond shared a glance before shaking their heads and waving him off.

"Nothing," Desmond answered.

"I'm getting some food," Clay added, already pushing away from the wall and walking towards the direction of the room that everyone had since been using as a food storage. At the mention of food Desmond found his stomach lurch inside him, following soon after with a faint grumble for attention.

"Me too."

They left a rather confused looking Shaun behind as they left to grab an early dinner. After all, with the upcoming mission they would need all the strength they could get.


	13. Chapter 13

They'd landed in São Paulo just ten minutes ago, the four of them now walking towards the exit terminal in the crowded airport, blinking away the remainder of their fatigue as they prepared themselves for the job that lay ahead.

Desmond had been nervous at first when they'd approached the airport back home, but whatever Clay had done he'd done it exceptionally well – no one was hindered on their way through, and their passports were deemed valid. Rebecca even looked impressed to some degree, but Desmond noted that Clay still hadn't had a word with her, and though she spoke with him she remained looking uncomfortable. Perhaps it was a godsend then that she had been sitting with Shaun on the flight in the row ahead of them, leaving Desmond and Clay to sit next to each other without the threat of that particular storm bearing overhead.

Seeing as Desmond had not had a proper night's sleep since these visions of his had started up, he wanted nothing more than to spend the next eight hours trying to get as much rest as he possibly could. He'd barely gotten the words out to Clay before his eyes slipped closed – and the next time he opened them was when the plane touched down on the runway, the cabin shaking and trundling as the wheels lurched and rolled over the tarmac. And if there was one thing that Desmond found himself being thankful for over the past few hours of that flight, it was that he could finally get some sleep without Juno trying to worm her way inside his head.

He'd turned his head to see Clay looking at him with a rather amused expression on his face, and Desmond wasted no time in informing him of her lack of appearance. This had spiked the blond's interest immensely, and this was now where the four of them found themselves, pausing in the terminal to huddle together by a corner as Desmond relayed the news to Shaun and Rebecca.

"Wow…" Shaun breathed, the Brit looking fascinated by this titbit of information. "So what I'm guessing here is – and this is purely conjecture – but perhaps these visions Juno has been sending are linked only to the Grand Temple, making it act as a conduit to focus her messages over to you?"

Desmond stuffed his hands into his pockets, giving a brief nod. He'd considered that too.

"I wouldn't be surprised. After all that was where she died."

"It sounds like she never truly _died_ though, I mean… if the readings I'm getting on the monitors are anything to go by, she's as real as… well… real can be, I guess." Rebecca frowned, the woman chewing her lip slightly as she mulled that one over.

"Or it could be the Apple. You left that at the temple, right?" Shaun asked, turning to look back at Desmond, who nodded again in response. There was no way he was going to bring that along to Brazil.

"It's not the Apple." Heads turned to focus on Clay, who'd chosen that moment to speak up. His face was clouded over in thought as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm willing to bet it's what's behind that gate. The Apple is only an illusory device – and even then it doesn't feed you visions in your sleep. Besides, only someone with the right DNA would have to be touching it to get it to work like that."

Shaun looked surprised, his brows raised high under his glasses.

"How do you know that?"

Desmond quickly cast a sidewards glance at the blond, and in doing so he caught the brief flash of fear which echoed in those crystal blue eyes before it was effortlessly smoothed away. Clay shrugged his shoulders.

"Desmond explained the basics."

Shaun looked at Desmond, who merely grinned guiltily in response. This seemed to have convinced the historian, and he made to walk away from the wall, pulling Rebecca along with him.

"Alright then. Well whatever it is that's going on with Desmond's head we'll figure it out later after we've gotten that second power source."

Rebecca pulled her arm out of Shaun's grip.

"Do you mind? I can walk by myself."

Shaun looked down at her.

"We're supposed to be a couple here. Can we at least act like it until we get past security?"

"Sure we can act like it. But after you let me walk by myself. D'you know what that means, Shaun? Or do the English have some obscure translation only they know of when it comes to the word-"

"Yes, yes, you've made your point. Less chatter and more focusing on walking out of here please." Shaun cleared his throat, striding hastily forwards. Rebecca rolled her eyes, following suit but keeping a noticeable distance away from the Brit. Desmond and Clay exchanged a quick glance, the two of them unable to entirely hide the smirks threatening to pull at their lips as they began to follow.

"Ten bucks says they go bang in the hotel room when we're out finding that artefact," Clay muttered lowly. Desmond grinned at that.

"You're on."

"That reminds me... you still owe me that ten bucks from last time."

"Really not the best time to be bringing this up right now, Clay."

"Will you two hurry up?"

They coughed a little, trying to hide their laughter as they moved into a jog to catch up to both Rebecca and Shaun who were waiting impatiently for them by the terminal exit. The next few minutes was a blur of people and mass confusion as they passed through customs; their passports were stamped, they were given final scans by the security gates, and at last – one hour later – they saw themselves breathing the fresh air of the outside.

"We getting a taxi to the hotel?" Desmond gasped out, sucking in air like he was dying of thirst. It had been swelteringly hot inside that terminal, and not to mention the amount of people crowded in that confined area had taken the breath quite literally right out of him when he'd been pushed around. Not wanting to cause a scene he let them, though grudgingly.

"Yeah we'll have to, it's on the other side of the city," Rebecca answered, already hailing a cab towards them. Shaun took that moment to draw Clay and Desmond close to him, lowering his voice to a whisper.

"The hotel's directly in front of the stadium where that artefact is being held. We'll have to get you in tonight when the game's on. It'll be packed, yes, but more people means it's easier for you to move around undetected by security."

"Do you know the artefact's exact location or are we going to have to try our luck and hope we accidentally step on it?" Clay asked, arching a brow.

"Very funny. No, hopefully soon we'll have a proper answer for you both. But for now—" Shaun lifted his head then, raising his voice a little and scratching his stomach idly as he turned around to see Rebecca waving them all over, the taxi doors open as the driver glared at them all, "—time for a late check-in and then some dinner."

Looking down at his watch, Desmond realised that Shaun _did_ have a point. After all, no one had had anything to eat since their quick meal in the morning, and it was already nearing 3pm. The thought of food was tantalising, and even now Desmond felt himself salivating at the prospect of eating something substantial. After almost an entire month of being locked away in that temple with nothing but cheap snacks to live on, even a single slice of toast was enough to sound like a five star meal. He shuffled inside the taxi, sitting down next to Rebecca in the back as Shaun took the passenger seat; Clay followed Desmond and sat down on his left.

Then they drove off, the driver barely waiting for all the doors to close before hitting the accelerator.

Tilting his head back against the headrest, Desmond watched as São Paulo opened up around them, his eyes roaming almost hungrily over the blue skies, the clustered skyscrapers and the congested traffic. He missed the city life – missed feeling the sense of freedom that a city provided him. He felt a pang of longing hit him, plucking mercilessly at his heart strings as he thought back on his old bartending job in New York.

Maybe when all this was over and they saved the world, he might be offered another position back there? If not there, then somewhere else at least. He'd been missing for over three months after all – there was no way his boss hadn't handed his job over to someone else already. He turned his head then, chancing a quick look at Clay beside him. He noticed how the man was gazing out the window with rapt attention, drinking in the surroundings just as much as Desmond was. He grinned, and he was just about to open his mouth to speak up when he was interrupted by the driver.

His voice was rough and gravelly – he sounded like a heavy smoker – and he motioned with his hand to Shaun to indicate the three of them in the backseat, speaking a few sentences in poor and heavily accented English.

The blaring of car horns from outside was too loud for Clay, Desmond or Rebecca to hear everything the grey-haired man was asking, but Shaun apparently heard him with no difficulties as he nodded every so often and motioned with his hand to Rebecca.

"That's my wife. She's a novelist," he had to raise his voice a little to make himself heard. Rebecca shifted uncomfortably in her seat, the woman looking very much like she was considering either hitting herself in the head with her MP3 player or jumping out the car window. Or maybe a bit of both.

"Shaun what the hell are you doing?" She hissed. Shaun pretended to ignore her.

"Yeah, she's always like that."

" _Shaun!_ "

The driver nodded to Clay and Desmond, the two men blinking and sharing a bemused glance with one another. Shaun frowned, gazing at the two steadily for a moment as if trying to somehow think of how he was going to explain them. Eventually he scratched at his head and looked back at the driver again.

"The brown haired kid is my... son – that's his cousin there, the blond. They're going on exchange at the university here."

The driver's face visibly lightened up at that, and he looked at the pair of them with renewed interest, his wrinkled eyes squinting as he studied them momentarily. Then he began to ask something else, Desmond catching something which sounded like the word "degree". He didn't pay it much mind though, Desmond already paling quite considerably in the face at being referred to as Shaun's son – in fact he probably would have socked the Brit in the face if they weren't in a car. Clay was trying his hardest not to laugh, and even Rebecca looked greatly amused. Desmond groaned under his breath, leaning forwards and rubbing his eyes.

_I'm going to kill you, Shaun._

"Hey, the whole son thing aside – he's right," Clay murmured by his ear. Desmond shot him a glare between his fingers. Clay was grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much for his own good.

"Distant _distant_ cousins but you know, it still technically counts. Maybe."

Desmond sighed, sucking in a deep breath and holding it before sitting back up. He nodded.

"Erm… I—yeah, my son is in accounting and… Patrick? What degree are you doing again…?" Shaun turned his head around again, looking at Clay.

"Engineering." Clay's lips formed a wry smile. Shaun nodded, turning back to the driver. Desmond arched a brow.

"Engineering?"

"My dad wanted me to take up the family business. Long story," Clay shrugged, waving the comment off. Desmond let it slide, turning his attention back to the window for something to do other than trying to listen to Shaun explaining the familial bonds everyone in the car supposedly shared. He vaguely wondered in the back of his head why the driver was asking so many questions about them in the first place, but seeing as they _were_ technically passing off as tourists and students he supposed the man's curiosity was justified.

So he settled back and watched the city unfold around them, wondering what he would be having for dinner, and hoping his stomach could last until then.

* * *

The hotel was cheap and parts of the rooms inside looked completely run-down. The lobby smelt of disinfectant, and after a brief pause at reception to grab their room keys they discovered the elevator was out for repairs.

Seeing as they were meant to be staying on the top floor tonight, everyone stifled disappointed groans as they took to the stairs.

"I don't see why you're complaining," Shaun hissed under his breath to Desmond. "You climb up bloody towers for Christ's sake and suddenly you can't handle climbing a few flights of stairs like a normal person?"

"A normal person would take the lift when the hotel is _twenty floors high, Shaun,_ " Desmond fired back. He wasn't in the mood for this right now. "And for the record, I only had to climb _four_ floors back in Manhattan."

Shaun promptly fell silent at that.

"Who even booked this hotel?" Clay asked.

"I did," Rebecca called from up front. Clay winced. They made a left and continued up the next flight of staircases.

"It's in sight of the stadium and it got really shitty reviews online. It's the perfect place to use as a temporary base when you and Desmond go out there tonight."

"How?" Shaun made a disgusted face.

"Because no one will want to come in here. Can't you smell how bad the air conditioning is in this place? It's like something died in the vents."

Desmond had already clapped a hand to his nose to try and avoid breathing in the stench the moment the four of them had turned another left onto the third floor staircase. He coughed faintly, wondering if that wasn't exactly what had happened. Beside him Clay wasn't faring much better, the man looking like he was going to be sick, Shaun doubly so. Rebecca on the other hand either had a blocked nose or she was exceptionally good at making it seem as if she wasn't affected.

"Let's face it. This hotel is going to kill us long before Abstergo does," Shaun grumbled under his breath. Desmond was fully inclined to agree with that.

"I also asked the guy downstairs where the metro was – the good news is that it's not too far from here. Just a ten minute walk or so."

"Why did you ask about the metro?" Shaun narrowed his eyes at Rebecca. She looked at him.

"If Desmond and… Mark… take the front entrance to the stadium they'll be in direct line of sight of security. The metro has its own entrance into the stadium and I discovered earlier on when I was digging around online that the checkpoints they have set up there aren't as well guarded as they are out the front."

"How come?" Desmond asked, finding that to be fairly counter-intuitive.

"Because those tunnels are frequented by drunks and whores which tends to put people off entering from the underground. And generally speaking buying tickets to the stadium via the checkpoints at the metro were ten times more expensive."

"Huh…" Desmond was momentarily stunned. He'd never thought of it like that before.

They lapsed into silence then, the group trudging staircase after staircase. It was another fifteen minutes until they finally reached the end, and they stopped in the corridor after leaving the stairwell exit.

Whatever that smell had been in the vents down below was thankfully not noticeable all the way up here, but the mess of towels and washing lying in the corridors from the cleaners left much to be desired.

"I want to know how these people are still in business," Shaun muttered, stepping over a small tower of men's boxers left out in the open by the first door. "Eugh! Is that a _condom_ —"

"Room's right here," Rebecca interrupted, pointing to a closed door. She turned her key in the lock and it opened, and she ushered everyone inside. It was cramped and could barely fit two people let alone four, and it was a struggle to try and manoeuvre around everyone to find a place to sit down. In the end Shaun had managed to take the chair by the closed window, and Desmond and Clay sat down on the double bed – the springs creaked and groaned under their weight, and they shared a glance, hoping that it wouldn't break.

"Please tell me you're not going to be sleeping in here," Desmond spoke up as he looked at Rebecca, the woman already making herself comfortable on the floor and hooking up her laptop to the power point on the wall. She shook her head.

"In that thing? With Shaun? You've gotta be kidding me. I'd rather be tossed into the sun."

"Thanks," Shaun grumbled from the corner.

"No probs. Now then… obviously these rooms suck, but the other good thing about this place? Because they know they're a shitty hotel they're closing next week so they're offering free refunds on booked rooms. So depending on how quickly you guys find that power source this evening we can head straight over to the airfield and we'll be back home by lunchtime tomorrow."

"Let's hope they do. You really knew what kind of hotel to pick," Shaun grumbled again. Rebecca ignored him, the woman distracted by setting up her computer.

"I'm going to be running the surveillance from here with Shaun. You two still have those microphones I gave you last time?" She looked up to see both Desmond and Clay nodding in the affirmative. She seemed satisfied by this, turning back to her work.

"Good. Now all that's left to do is for us to get some food and then see you off." She stood up, her cameras all set. She turned to look at them.

"Good luck."

* * *

They'd stopped at a nearby McDonald's for an early dinner (they'd only brought minimal cash with them), and though they ate nothing particularly fancy it was still substantial enough to leave them feeling satisfied by the time they'd finished off their burgers and fries. To Desmond, it was almost like heaven.

He'd gone far too long without having a nice cut of hot juicy beef draped in melting stringy cheese and finished off with extra ketchup sandwiched between freshly baked buns, with a large fries nestled neatly on the side. And it wasn't just him either if the way the others had wolfed down their own food was anything to go by. In fact, by the end of their meal both he and Clay were tying for first place as to how many fries they could shovel into their mouths, Shaun glancing at them with disgust but still actively participating in goading them on regardless. Rebecca had refused to join in, claiming she'd rather stick to the salad that she'd purchased at a salad bar beforehand, and the minute they'd all sat down she'd gotten to work on contacting one of the airfields to ask about leaving a jet on standby.

William had given them the name and number of one man who owned a private runway – someone who was sympathetic to the assassin's plight and had worked with them on numerous occasions before.

"What about the airport we arrived at? They'll know we haven't booked a return flight home," Desmond had brought up halfway during dinner, to which Rebecca had simply replied that she would get to work on deleting their data from the networks, making it appear as if they'd never left America and entered Brazil in the first place.

"But wouldn't this alert Abstergo and make them aware that we've never left? I thought we were trying to drag them out here to keep them away from the temple?" Shaun had then added.

"Abstergo are already taken care of, don't worry about them," Clay had interjected after taking another bite of his food. It was then that Shaun paused a moment, then nodded, apparently having remembered his conversation with the blond back in the temple before they'd left.

"Let's hope it actually worked."

Clay didn't respond.

They had then taken another half an hour's rest after their meal, and soon it was time to leave. After being informed that the others would be waiting in the hotel room when they returned, Desmond and Clay had lifted their hands in a wave and then they began to walk off in the opposite direction – their strides quick as they hastily walked towards the metro.

Checking his watch, Desmond noted that the time was close to 6pm, the sun already beginning its descent over the skyline of skyscrapers and office buildings. The air was warm - the breeze not much better - and the throngs of people surrounding them on all sides made for difficult progress.

"If this goes smoothly tonight, that'd be great," Desmond muttered, adjusting his Bluetooth microphone over his ear. He drew his hood up over his face. Clay stuffed his hands in his pockets, not bothering with his microphone just yet as he led the way, eyes darting over the crowds.

"When has anything ever gone smoothly in our line of work?" He uttered drily. Desmond gave a wry chuckle.

"Can still dream though, can't I?"

Clay grinned. As the pair fell into a lapse of silence in their walk down the crowded streets, they saw the stadium rise up along their left-hand side; towering almost as high as the skyscrapers around it, it was impossible to miss. They had still yet to hear from Rebecca concerning the whereabouts of the artefact, but over dinner she'd informed them that it was _definitely_ in the vicinity of the stadium grounds, most likely in someone's possession.

A group of children squealing and giggling as they raced by drew Desmond's attention for a minute, and he found himself watching them thoughtfully as they took off in the opposite direction.

"How old are your nieces?"

Clay blinked, the blond cocking his head to the side as he regarded his friend.

"What?"

Desmond looked back at him.

"Those nieces of yours you were telling me about last week."

Clay arched an eyebrow, looking for the minute rather confused at where this conversation was headed. Eventually he shrugged.

"Dunno. Probably around 10 now, I guess. Why do you ask?"

"Those kids running by just reminded me of them, that's all."

Clay turned his head, catching a brief glimpse of the two children before they disappeared around the corner of the street. A faint smile twitched at his lips and he looked back ahead of them at the metro entrance which was fast approaching.

"I haven't seen them since they were four years old. They probably don't even remember me."

Desmond's brows knotted together, concern flashing briefly within his eyes.

"Did you even talk to them or your siblings at all before… well…"

Clay sighed.

"No." His tone was clipped and short. "Their parents aren't even my siblings. I was the only child." He saw Desmond looking at him with an expression in his eyes that clearly demanded some kind of further explanation, because he was confused as all hell. Clay's lips pressed together thinly, as if he was contemplating whether or not he should just give in and humour Desmond for a moment. In the end he decided that, to hell with it, he would.

"Good old dad decided he'd go out and have an affair with some chick behind my mother's back some time after she'd started her drinking problem. Then after she died, well… he married the new love of his life. The son was already hers from a different marriage. Only time I'd ever talked to him was when he introduced me to his kids. Of course we _had_ to agree that they'd be my nieces, purely to keep up family appearances and all that. Wouldn't want the Kaczmareks to seem like a dysfunctional bunch." He chuckled drily.

Desmond focused his attention on the crowds in front of them, nodding his understanding. He knew only far too well what that felt like.

"I'm betting they _were_ dysfunctional though, right?"

Clay snorted.

"Most dysfunctional family I've ever known," he answered bitterly, his lips curling into a sneer until he sighed and rubbed at his head. "But it's not like I wasn't to blame, either… I had my fair share of disagreements with everyone."

He paused for a while, Desmond remaining silent, sensing that Clay was contemplating again whether or not to elaborate. Eventually he did, his smile now saddened as he looked back at the younger man beside him.

"When I was twenty five I started going to therapy."

Desmond frowned, looking at him and giving the man his rapt attention.

"I blamed it on my dad… god he just… really drove me up the fucking wall. It started affecting me pretty badly… I had a job at an accelerator then, and things weren't going too well. Mainly with my co-workers. I'd lived my whole life being pushed away and discouraged from doing what I'd wanted to do… my dad was pressuring me to be an engineer… I didn't want it… you know how it goes. The doc I saw suspected that I had some kind of ADHD or OCD… but that wasn't it. I had this need to… to _prove_ myself… to show people that I was actually _worth_ something. I responded badly to criticism at work, and when my dad started to crack down on me I took my anger out on the rest of the people I worked with – yelling at them, even getting into a fistfight with the manager at one stage… it wasn't exactly a highlight of my life." He paused, sighing morosely and giving a loose shrug of his shoulders.

"Eventually the psychiatrist believed that I displayed what he called 'maladaptive perfectionist tendencies'," he scoffed, looking disgusted. "He suspected that my dad had been abusing me throughout my childhood, and he was right. He'd hit me all the time, but I'd keep getting back up again. I told the doc that he was a positive influence on me – always had been. I had nothing to lose, after all. So what if he'd punch me in the face if I so much as looked at him wrong? He still loved me – he was my _father_ after all. All I'd have to do was prove to him that I was worth more than a pile of dirt, and eventually he'd come running back begging forgiveness. At least, that was what I thought. It turned out completely differently in the end."

Desmond stopped walking, his eyes fixed on Clay as the blond spoke. His blue eyes were gazing calmly ahead, and there was an… empty look in them. Almost without realising Desmond had taken a step closer, his arms crossing over his chest.

"It was when I joined the assassins that things started to finally look up for me… I found confidence, support, people who accepted me for who I was and would always congratulate me and make me feel like I'd done something right… they were the family I'd always wanted." He fixed his eyes on Desmond then, a sad smile crossing Clay's lips. "I quit my job at the accelerator and started working with your father and Rebecca. I barged into the clinic one day about seven months after I'd entered the Brotherhood and told the doc I was cured. I felt good about my life, I was reacting more positively to everything around me… I actually started _smiling_ again. I was told that I should keep on with the sessions, but at that stage I'd already had enough – I was there for over a year after all. Eventually the psychiatrist bugged me so much with his constant pleading for me to stay and continue with the therapy that I outright demanded for him to show me the notes he'd kept."

Desmond blinked.

"Why?"

Clay's smile morphed into a dry smirk.

"I overheard the receptionist at the clinic talking on the phone one day saying that the doc wasn't getting a high enough salary. Conveniently enough, the money I was paying for the premium sessions seemed to be just what he needed. Was he trying to help me? No. Did I need more therapy? Definitely not. So that's why I asked for the files. He refused, but I still got my hands on them in the end."

"How?" Desmond was genuinely curious to find out. Clay's smirk widened.

"I swiped the filing cabinet key from his pocket when he wasn't looking. Took the notes, read through them and found out the greedy bastard was using my money to pay for an apartment in Paris."

"… And then what?"

"What do you think? I burned the file."

Despite the mood of the conversation, Desmond found himself cracking a grin at that, Clay's light-hearted tone helping to soothe the ache that had attached itself to Desmond's heart when he'd heard the blond recount his story. Apparently glad to see that Desmond was smiling again, Clay resumed walking, his smile much airier now that he'd gotten that load off of his chest.

"It's always the people you don't expect."

Desmond found he couldn't necessarily respond outright to that, so in the end a simple "yeah…" was all he managed to get out. Clay didn't seem to mind though, and soon they reached the metro entrance – through which they had to jog down to avoid being knocked over by the groups of people swarming in and out.

"Hey, Clay… thanks for telling me all that," Desmond spoke up briefly after a minute of silence, the pair weaving through the crowds darting this way and that. Clay looked at him.

"Why are you thanking me?"

"Because I—" Desmond managed an awkward half-shrug, skirting around a woman who had stopped right in front of him to talk on her phone, almost making him run right into her. He grumbled something scathing under his breath and cleared his throat so he could continue. "Because I can imagine it was probably… y'know… hard for you to say."

"If it was hard for me to say I wouldn't have said it at all," Clay looked greatly amused at that, nudging the man in the shoulder with his elbow as he grinned. "I just thought it fair. I mean I know all about what happened to you after spending that brief week or so locked in your head."

Desmond's lips quirked and he shoved his hands in his pockets, letting those words echo in his brain for a bit as he roamed his eyes around the subterranean passage they were proceeding through. It smelt awful in here – like stale piss and alcohol – and he crinkled his nose in disgust as he stepped over a man who was lying down apparently either unconscious or asleep by the wall, his legs lying straight out as if for the sole purpose of tripping up unwary passers-by. Old and torn posters were plastered carelessly to the tiled walls, and graffiti was scrawled here and there – including a rather detailed artist's impression of the present-day world leaders engaging in World War III with the flaring sun's rays sending down spouts of fire and sparking blazes across the battlefield.

_That's probably not too far from the truth,_ Desmond thought warily as he side-eyed it. The world was going to hell.

"Rebecca we're approaching the ticket gates now," he spoke up lowly, pressing the microphone closer to his ear after switching it on and waiting for an answer as Clay meanwhile adjusted his own and did likewise. They frowned, not hearing anything save for some stray static.

Desmond tried again, wondering if the interference from the metro grinding to a halt on the platform behind them was playing some part with that. He winced against the screeching of the carriages, the doors sliding open with a sharp metallic hiss as people piled out and others ran straight in. He cast a quick glance at Clay.

"You getting anything?" He asked. The blond shook his head. Desmond sighed, afraid of that. They pushed people out of the way, not bothering for any form of common courtesy right now seeing as they would be getting none of that down here – not to mention, they had a job to do, and they had to do it quickly.

"You there, Rebecca?" Desmond tried again when they'd reached the bottom of the stairs leading towards the stadium entrance. He heard something this time; it was faint, but it was still audible to some extent.

" _Bad reception… can you hear me?"_

Desmond rolled his eyes, sighing heavily as he tapped at his earpiece in some vain effort to get it to work. Clay was remaining silent, the man glancing around them as if eyeing the crowds to ensure they weren't being watched by anyone. It was clear however both by his tense posture and the look in his eyes that he was feeling just as frustrated as Desmond was at the communication issues.

"Well, glad to see that's working," Desmond muttered, bringing his hand down and following Clay as the blond motioned for him to follow. "Guess we'll try you back when we're topside."

"While we're waiting for technology to start working again like it used to, I think we might have to be extra careful from here on out," Clay murmured quietly. Desmond frowned, looking at him.

"What makes you say that?"

Clay didn't respond with words, rather he'd nodded his head in the direction of a poster that was attached to the nearby tiled wall. As soon as Desmond raked his eyes over it, he felt the blood rush out of his head, his jaw seeming to drop entirely of its own accord as a dull, aching fear stabbed at his heart.

The poster was written in both English and Portuguese, and was marked with a bold heading simply reading: _Wanted._

Underneath the red and white capital letters was a single picture.

A picture of his own face.

He turned to Clay, brown eyes wide.

"How the _fuck_ did this happen?!"

Clay answered with a grim smile.

"Abstergo. It would appear they were onto us long before we tried getting them off our backs."

Desmond was panicking now - he gripped at his head, pulling his hood down further over his face as he approached the poster, his eyes darting frantically over the picture as he read to himself the charges he was supposedly meant to be faced with. Murder, interstate flight, attempted murder, national firearms act…

His chest felt painfully tight.

_I haven't done any of these things! Except for the interstate flight…_

Abstergo were trying to frame him – to make it easier for people to recognise him and hand-deliver him directly to their doorstep. He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and he jumped, almost crying out as he whipped his head around. He groaned when he realised it was just Clay – the blond arching an eyebrow at him and quickly pulling his hand back.

"We have to go. Now."

Desmond nodded, barely registering the urgency behind the man's words as he stumbled behind him, finally managing to will his feet to move. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"How…?" He whispered hoarsely. It didn't make any sense. "How did they _know_ we were going to be here?"

"We don't know that, necessarily. They could have put these up any time before we arrived. A year before, two months before, maybe this morning, maybe ten minutes ago – who knows. But what we _do_ know is that there's been a breach somewhere along the line, and we'll have to do our best to find out exactly what it is. If we don't get captured or killed first," Clay explained. Desmond laughed bitterly at that.

"Great, thanks. Just what I wanted to hear right now."

"I aim to please."

Desmond didn't bother giving the blond the satisfaction of an answer – right now the need to hurry up and get that artefact and then get out of here before someone recognised him took precedence. They climbed the stairs two at a time, the stadium ticket booths now directly ahead in their line of sight through the swarming crowds of people. They carefully navigated their way through the masses, sticking close together to ensure neither of them got separated. All the while Desmond had his head bowed, praying that no one would see him under the hood. It was unlikely, but it was the only form of protection he had right now.

The line leading up towards the guards checking tickets stretched almost to the very top of the stairs.

"I thought Rebecca said that this entrance wasn't as used as the other one!" Desmond hissed quietly, Clay standing next to him as the pair took their place in the line-up. They ignored the agitated cries from the man standing behind them, the guy apparently upset that they'd cut in front of him.

"It must be the game they have on tonight. Either that or this _is_ the entrance which is less used. I'd hate to see the queue out the front," Clay groaned.

Desmond had to agree with that. In order to distract himself, he raised his hand and pressed the microphone closer to his ear, hoping that Rebecca could finally hear him now seeing as they'd made it to the stadium. He glanced around them, eyeing the advertisements atop posters and billboards, the ceaseless sound of people talking echoing within his ears and making it so dizzyingly hard to concentrate he struggled getting the words out for a minute.

"You copy now?"

" _Loud and clear."_

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"You found out anything about that artefact yet?" Clay asked as he shuffled a little closer next to Desmond, having no choice in the matter as a group of people stormed past.

" _It's in the possession of some tycoon's trophy wife. She's apparently been masquerading it around as a prize for the winners of tonight's games,"_ Rebecca announced. _"We're working on pinpointing her location, but she's most likely inside a VIP booth on the stadium's upper level. The footage we have from the drones isn't crystal clear so it's taking some time to confirm this, but I'll update you when I know more."_

"Now to find a ticket…" Desmond muttered, glancing over the heads of the people in the rows ahead of him. He could just make out the guards checking the stubs that people handed to them.

" _We don't have time to play nice. Steal someone else's."_

Desmond blinked at that, turning his head to fix Clay with a stunned expression – the blond looking greatly amused by Rebecca's words.

"Bit of a dick move, don't you think?" He couldn't help the smile that twitched faintly at the corners of his lips. He honestly wasn't expecting Rebecca to come out and say something like that.

" _Well, I guess you could try and sneak past security instead…"_

Desmond lifted his gaze back to the ticket booths, skirting his eyes around towards a door which could be seen half-open on the opposite side of the entrance. He pointed towards it, Clay also following his gaze and nodding his understanding when he turned his head in the direction that Desmond indicated.

"Copy that." And then they moved. Clay stepped out of the line, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he casually strolled over towards the far wall, Desmond moving over to the man's right-hand side so he was hidden partially from view of the guards standing by the ticket booths. A group of people proved an effective spot to escape the roaming eyes of security with as they darted behind a circle of four or five stadium-goers, lightly pushing people out of the way as they moved. The door gradually came further into view, and soon they saw themselves casting one last careful glance around the hall before slipping through the partially opened doorway into a courtyard nestled neatly outside.

The air reeked of cigarette smoke and something that smelt unsettlingly like pot, and they scrunched their noses up as the rank made them cough and move to cover their mouths. They weren't afforded much time to muse over this however, as Clay pulled Desmond back the moment he was just about to walk out into the garden from behind the brick wall leading out from the door.

"Wait…" He whispered, pausing as he silently communicated for Desmond to be quiet. Clay's eyes were narrowed, and he cautiously peered his head around the wall. He'd heard movement.

As soon as he saw what was beyond the garden courtyard, standing a few metres away from them, he felt his stomach roll and then drop away from inside of him. He swallowed the thick lump in his throat and he groaned lowly as he span back around and ran a hand over his face.

"What is it?" Desmond asked quietly, but it was clear by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that he had already guessed. Clay opened his eyes, a grim smile forming dryly on his lips as he whispered into his headset.

"That doesn't look like normal security."

It was a few seconds until they heard a response from Rebecca, and when they did – her voice was hoarse, as if she too was having difficulty in coming to terms with what Clay had just seen.

" _Because it isn't… those are Abstergo agents…"_

Desmond gave a bitter smile, sighing and gripping the folds of his hood as he dragged it cautiously further down over his face.

_Great. Fucking great._

" _That means Cross is probably here too. You guys need to be careful."_

"Obviously," Clay remarked quietly.

" _How did this happen?!"_ That was Shaun, the Brit sounding panicked over the end of the line.

"We saw a poster out in the hall. A wanted poster actually. With my face on it. They've been wanting to trap us here for a while," Desmond explained, lowering his voice to a whisper.

" _Shit,"_ Rebecca cussed sharply. _"I'm going to do a quick background check here to find out when they put up those posters. Hang on a sec."_

"There's not much else we _can_ do right now," Clay muttered under his breath.

" _I heard that."_

Clay smirked at that, and Desmond rolled his eyes as he peered over the man's shoulder out at the courtyard surrounding them. It was small, with a few shrubs dotted here and there, some trees planted in the few patches of grass available, and garbage littering the corners of the staircase leading up into the concourse beyond. And directly in the centre of the walkway heading towards these very stairs, were two men in uniform – bearing the ominous Abstergo logo in bright fluorescent yellow upon their backs.

They were armed, too. With guns and tasers.

Desmond sucked in a sharp breath and he flattened his back against the brick wall as he spun back around.

"I'll admit, I wasn't expecting this," Clay quipped airily, no doubt trying to take away from the severity of the predicament the two found themselves thrown into. Desmond didn't have an appropriate response – in fact he felt as if his mind had momentarily blanked out.

He couldn't believe how everything had gone so wrong, so quickly.

" _You still there?"_ Rebecca spoke up again.

"Yeah, whatcha got for us?" Clay answered.

" _Ok well it turns out that these posters weren't commissioned by the Brazilian government, so that's the good news. The bad news is that these posters were planted by Abstergo themselves – and for your current location most likely by the agents you two are looking at right now."_

"I think I know where this is going…" Desmond uttered drily.

" _If you mean you're thinking that Abstergo have been hanging these posters everywhere around the globe where the artefacts are located, then yes – you guessed correctly,"_ Rebecca answered, sighing heavily. _"They've been doing this without our knowing since the day you took the first artefact from Cross back in Manhattan."_

"Isn't that nice?" Clay sighed. "So I'm guessing they're buying off the local governments to allow these posters to remain plastered around areas of interest."

" _Exactly."_

Clay clapped Desmond on the shoulder.

"Looks like you're famous now."

"This isn't helping," Desmond's voice sounded feeble, quiet to his own ears.

" _Desmond's right, it isn't. Shaun also tells me that Abstergo are definitely onto us – they've begun locking down the artefacts one by one to make it harder for us to find them… and easier for them to capture us if we do."_

"Fuck," Desmond cussed sharply, pushing away from the wall and sighing as he ran a hand over his brow. A cold sweat had begun to plaster to his forehead, and he rubbed his hand clean on his hoodie.

"Well we just have to risk it. I take it the security here tonight is exclusively Abstergo?"

" _I'm willing to say so, yes."_

"Good," Desmond cracked the knuckles in his hand. "That way I won't be hurting people who don't deserve it."

"Woah…" Clay whistled lowly, a wide grin quirking on his lips when Desmond gave him the finger in response.

" _Desmond, you HAVE_ _to be careful!"_ Rebecca pleaded with him.

"I know what I'm doing Rebecca. But if Cross is here too then there's no way this'll be smooth sailing. You honestly think he'll let either of us walk away free when we get that artefact?"

" _No, but—"_

"But nothing. If we can get through this without a fight, then fine. Great. But the reality is I don't think that's going to happen at all. And we have to be ready for it when he decides to go after us."

"The man has spoken, Rebecca. Catch you on the flipside," Clay cut in, his abrupt tone indicating that that was the end of conversation. Desmond shot him a thankful smile, glad that they could stop arguing about this now so they could get to work on getting what they came here for.

"Follow me," Clay motioned with his hand, crouching down and slipping into the cover of the bushes by the brick wall. Desmond followed suit, the pair navigating slowly through the leaves and pausing every so often to ensure that they wouldn't be heard. So far the agents standing nearby hadn't given any indication that they'd seen them – already they had begun their patrols, striding back and forth along the walkway. They were talking (they were Portuguese, Desmond noted), and their conversation was loud enough to cover up the small crunches of feet on leaves and twigs as the two assassins continued to inch slowly closer towards the stairwell.

A sharp exclamation by one of the agents the very second they'd reached the end of the bushes made them both pause, breaths catching in their throats as they quickly turned their heads, bodies tense and muscles poised ready to strike out if need be.

Thankfully though there was no need – the guard wasn't yelling at them. A small group of children had rushed into the courtyard, giggling as they ran back and forth and darted around the agents, squealing in delight as they pointed at the tasers they carried. A woman then ran forwards, scolding the children and apologising frantically to the officers as she hastily pulled the kids back away from them. Casting a quick glance at one another, Desmond burst forwards and scrambled up the stairwell with Clay following close behind – the two successfully slipping through into the stadium hallway unnoticed.

"That was close," Clay breathed out, managing a coarse chuckle as he dusted himself off. Desmond nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly as he waited for his heart to cease its frantic pounding, brushing the dirt and grass from his jeans.

He looked up then, and his mouth dropped as he took in their exact location.

The stadium was huge. Stalls were set up haphazardly in the centre, around the walls and off in jutting corners of the concourse, crowds of people swarming this way and that and giving no indication of where the lines started or ended. It was hot too, unbearably so, the air conditioning apparently not working very well.

He could hear excited screaming and yelling echoing around the walls, no doubt from the game currently being held in the very next room. The commentator's voice thundered through the intercom, and Desmond felt his ears buzzing from all the noise the longer he stood there. He felt a hand on his arm and he snapped back to reality, Clay tugging on his wrist to get him to hurry up.

"Where to next?" Desmond murmured into his headset, having to raise his voice a little to try and make himself heard over the crowd. He fell into step beside the blond, both men taking their time in walking through the throngs of people, keeping together as much as they possibly could without drawing any unwanted attention to themselves. As he waited for a response, Desmond lifted his gaze to glance over the heads of the people around him, Clay doing likewise. They couldn't see any more guards around, but that didn't mean that they weren't there. Desmond had his fears confirmed for him when a quick nudge of Clay's elbow into his forearm indicated that the blond had just caught sight of one – and lifting his head to glance off behind a pillar on the right-hand side of the wall, he indeed saw three uniformed guards strolling towards a group of people huddled together in front of one of the stalls.

Clay looked back at him, and the two shared a nod as they veered cautiously off towards the left. They could just make out the voices of the agents as they addressed the people they were talking to; one of the guards had switched into heavily accented English when the man he was speaking with made it apparent that he couldn't understand him.

"Have you seen this man? Contact security immediately if you do."

He was holding a poster.

"Come on Rebecca we don't have much time here," Clay muttered impatiently as they ducked and darted behind a vendor selling flags. At last they finally heard her.

" _Sorry, the reception's playing up again. I said the target is definitely in the VIP area. The entrance is at the end of this concourse."_

"Great, thanks," Desmond quickly answered, already setting off into a brisk walk. He kept his head bowed low, glancing out the corner of his eyes every so often in the guards' direction. He could still hear them.

"Makes you wonder why they're only looking for you," Clay muttered under his breath, easily keeping stride with Desmond as they continued to navigate their way towards the left-hand turn approaching up ahead. A sign hanging from the ceiling indicated the VIP platform as being situated straight ahead.

"You didn't exactly give Cross a good chance to get a look at you before you punched his lights out," Desmond replied, trying to keep his tone jovial to detract away from the sharp anxiety he was feeling at being in such close proximity to people who were undoubtedly trying to kill him.

"Well no, I didn't. But that's not what I meant…" Clay glanced at him briefly before looking back ahead of them and scanning the crowd as they moved. "I'm still technically an escaped ex-comatose patient from a county hospital."

Desmond almost stopped walking. Clay was right.

"Now that you mention it… I haven't heard anything about that since that one radio report…"

Clay's lips pursed into a thin line.

"Exactly. And you know what? I think I know why. Call me crazy but I'm willing to bet Abstergo pulled a few strings and announced that they'd already found me so there was no need to keep the search running. That way it would make us think that they'd stopped looking—"

"And it'd draw us straight out into the open because we'd assumed they'd left the area and moved onto somewhere else entirely," Desmond finished off, smiling grimly. It made perfect sense. Clay nodded, his smile matching Desmond's own as they finished turning the corner, stepping out of the way of an oncoming group of people.

Desmond was about to open his mouth to speak up again when he was cut off promptly by someone pushing past him and almost knocking him over in his haste, the man casting a quick glance back at Desmond as he dashed off – weaving through the crowd like he was running for his life.

"What the…" He didn't have time to finish that thought off as he saw exactly where the man was running. Up ahead, a few metres away, a security checkpoint had been set up. Two agents were waiting there, calling people at random to speak to them. He froze, Clay freezing beside him as the blond watched the scene with fear clearly written in his pale blue eyes.

"That's not good…" He whispered.

"Rebecca? They've set up a checkpoint," Desmond murmured into his headset, his eyes still trained on the man who had almost bowled him over. He approached the guard. That was when Desmond understood the reason behind the fear he saw in Clay's gaze. He felt his stomach drop. He didn't know what the man was saying as he watched him tugging on one of the guard's arms, but it was painfully clear what the general gist of it was if the way he pointed behind him, waving his hand excitedly was anything to go by.

" _Don't worry about that, you two have to move_ now _!"_ Rebecca urged. _"Is there a way to slip past them? A side room or a hallway or something?"_

"Quick, in here," Clay motioned with his hand and darted off towards the right, Desmond following as the pair ducked into the safety of the men's bathrooms. Normally this wouldn't have been Desmond's first choice of places to hide for many obvious reasons, but seeing as it was a choice between getting discovered by Abstergo or hiding in a room which proved an easy place to hide as they slipped by security, he had no complaints whatsoever.

Aside from the smell, that was.

He tried not to breathe in the toxic smelling air as they quickly jogged towards the bathroom exit located at the end of a short set of steps straight ahead. An elderly cleaner looked up from where he was currently wiping a wet rag around the rim of a squat toilet, but thankfully he paid them no mind as he returned to his work.

Trying his best to keep his eyes straight ahead, Desmond couldn't help but elicit a small groan as they passed by a set of filthy grunge-caked troughs lining the right-hand wall, directly in view of the exit.

_Seriously, what is the deal with stadiums and piss troughs? It's disgusting! And who thought they were a good idea?_

On second thought, the more he mulled that one over, the more he didn't want to know.

"Really wishing we didn't come through here now," Clay chuckled, the man no doubt trying to think of something to lighten the mood as they jogged through the adjoining corridor before cautiously checking around the side wall to see if the agents at the checkpoint were still there or not. They were, but they were distracted enough with the man continuing to rant on to them about Desmond to allow them to slip by and continue onwards towards the end of the hall.

"Just as long as we manage to make it inside there without having to go through another one we'll be alright," Desmond muttered. He heard Clay laugh quietly at that and they edged further on, moving more quickly now seeing as there were less people in this upper section of the concourse thanks to the agents blocking the masses at the checkpoint.

"Looks like we're close," Desmond then spoke up a minute later when the stairwell leading into the upper floor of the stadium approached from ahead. His mood fell immediately when he saw, however, that they wouldn't be taking that way into the stadium after all.

"Shit. Another checkpoint."

Clay cussed sharply when he saw it too – just ahead of the stairs, eyes roaming sharply over the crowd approaching, were two more guards by the partitions.

"We can cut them off over there," he motioned towards an open doorway again on the right-hand side. Desmond was tempted to ask if it led into another bathroom, but there wasn't the time for that right now. They had to get out of there. So they moved, veering casually off to the right and making sure to keep their steps slow so as to avoid the guards' unwanted attention. It almost worked too; they were just in sight of the doorway (it appeared to lead into a storage room of some kind, with a generator here and boxes of cardboard boxes lining the walls along the metal shelves) when a shout from one of the agents made them pause, freezing in their tracks. They turned their heads and their eyes widened when they noticed one of the men looking directly at them… and he'd begun to approach, taser extended and raised.

Rebecca had started to answer them then, but they weren't afforded the luxury of being able to hear her response as they ducked into the storage room, the excitable cries of the guard now muffled over the sounds of the generator. They raced forwards, sprinting past the haphazardly stocked shelves, fast approaching a gateway that had only been half-way closed. They ducked under it, grunting and straightening themselves upright as they pressed onwards, allowing a brief moment to stop to look out the nearby window back into the crowds to see if the guard was still there. They breathed heavy sighs of relief when they saw that he was currently being held up by a civilian at the checkpoint, close to where the storage room entrance was. The other guard had started to walk over, the civilian causing enough of a ruckus to make the crowd stop and watch for a moment, too.

"C'mon," Desmond urged. He turned around and noted that the area they were now in was an outside corridor, with brick walls around them and a grated fence straight ahead. He lifted his gaze, seeing that the fence was just the right height to climb, and conveniently led towards the roofing of a small outside storage unit of some kind. He ran up to the fence, lifting his arms and pulling himself upwards, gritting his teeth and heaving his body towards the top where he then jumped onto the roof ahead of him. Clay followed suit, the blond lithely doing the same, landing down next to him soon after. They then leapt forwards, one after the other, using the metal drainage pipes and beams to hang from as they swung onto and pushed off from railings and more fences – navigating closer towards an open window which appeared to lead into the stairwell behind the checkpoint.

They panted lightly under their breath when they dropped down onto the stairs, dusting themselves off and sparing a moment to check to see if anyone had noticed them. So far, so good. The corridor on the left led down towards the checkpoint, and thankfully their position at the top of the stairs here kept them out of sight of the agents. The corridor veering off towards their right, by the sounds of the crowds screaming excitedly through the walls, led directly towards the upper levels of the stadium.

" _Can you hear me?"_

"Sorry Rebecca, had some trouble. We're all good now, what's up?" Desmond spoke up into his microphone, sprinting down the hall as a quick check of the corridor revealed, thankfully, that no agents were in sight.

" _I said you're almost there, Desmond. She's just on the other side of the stadium."_

Desmond felt his jaw drop and he faltered momentarily, sharing an exasperated glance with Clay – the blond looking just as put off by this as Desmond was.

"Other _side_?!" He groaned.

" _Hey, you're really close now! In the last room on the right there's a booth which looks over the entire stadium. There's crosswalks up there which are high enough to hide you from any of the Abstergo agents who might be watching the crowd down below. You can use them to get across and then with a bit of luck you can reach her before Cross does."_

"Speaking of Cross have you heard anything from him yet?" Clay asked, following Desmond down the hall as they jogged towards the door outlined to them by Rebecca.

" _No, not yet. He's been really quiet which makes me wonder if he knows that you two are there or not."_

"Well that sounds promising," Clay mused drily.

Rebecca apparently didn't see fit to respond, but considering the current matter at hand it wasn't concerning in the slightest. They stepped past a group of people laughing and drinking by the entrance to the booth at the end of the hall, and as they walked in they took a moment to run their eyes over the expanse of the stadium that met their sight.

"Jesus Christ…" Clay muttered under his breath. Desmond could only nod. The booth they were in doubled up as both a lounge area and a bar, the bartender and the people ordering at the counter paying the two no mind as they walked down towards the rows of chairs. From here they overlooked the entire stadium; the crowd gathered was overwhelming – in fact it looked like the venue was booked out for the night. Rows upon rows of seating lined the walls, the flashes of cameras and the rays of strobe lights almost blinding the two momentarily as they shielded their eyes. The sound of the enthusiastic screaming of the crowds seemed to echo deep within their skulls until it was all they could think, and they winced when the two men wrestling down below flipped each other over – the crowd going absolutely wild.

Clay tugged on Desmond's arm, directing his attention to the catwalks which stretched from one side of the stadium to the other. They were easily accessible; all they would have to do would be to walk to the far side of the wall by the bar and simply step out onto the metal railing and carefully edge their way across. The booth they were after was directly opposite them on the far side.

Before Desmond was spared a moment to think about it Clay had already jumped up onto it, beginning to carefully skirt around the rungs and railings as he balanced his weight and settled himself enough to take off into a quick run atop the catwalk. Desmond followed suit, pushing his limbs into action as he climbed up and followed, keeping his eyes straight ahead and doing his best to avoid looking downwards so he wouldn't be distracted by the game below. He was thankful they were high up – what the crowd would have to say to two men racing around above their heads if they saw them, he shuddered to think.

Not to mention security would be called in.

He crouched down, keeping himself low as he held his arms loosely out by his sides, taking it one step quickly at a time and occasionally reaching out to steady himself by the railings holding the catwalk in place to the ceiling. Clay had already reached the end, the blond jumping lightly down onto the stairwell by the booth ahead of them, the man ignoring the shocked gasps thrown his way by the people seated down. Thankfully though most of them were either drunk or very near to it – the bartender being kept rather busy – so they didn't react as negatively as they perhaps otherwise would have. Desmond dropped down next to the older man, flexing his limbs a little and exhaling softly as he straightened up. Clay gave him a short nod and turned around, jogging over towards the door on the opposite side of the booth. He slipped out into the corridor beyond, casting a quick glance left and right to make sure there was no sign of any agents.

"Alright let's go," he whispered. They drew into a fast walk down the carpeted corridor; the walls alongside them were plastered with billboards and notices, and a few stragglers from the crowd were lounging down on the floor or leaning against the walls, drinking and laughing jovially to one another. A sign hung from the ceiling above, an arrow pointing to the left.

"VIP's on the left," Clay announced. Desmond clenched his fingers, keeping them fisted before slowly relaxing his grip. He wondered if Cross had made it here before them. He had a bad feeling about this.

Unfortunately he was right.

They'd barely managed to make it within sight of the open doorway when they yelled and sprang back, the echoing thunder of three bullets blasting through the air, resulting in absolute chaos as the people gathered in the corridor screamed and tripped over themselves in their haste to get away. A woman stumbled towards the door, both Desmond and Clay unable to do anything save gape with eyes wide open in horror as she fell before their feet, her back marked with three deep, bleeding holes. Her body twitched faintly in its final death throws before stilling completely, and it was with some great effort that they snapped their heads back up – only to come face to face with Cross himself.

His face contorted into an ugly mask of visible rage and he aimed his gun, firing without warning. Clay pulled Desmond to the side, the pair diving out of the way and slamming into the wall, grunting in dull agony as their bodies collided in sharp impact just as the bullets sailed past and embedded themselves in the window behind them, glass shattering all over the blood-stained ground.

They heard an empty clicking coming from the booth, Cross cussing loudly as he bellowed his frustration. Managing to pull away from the wall for just long enough to cautiously look around the doorway to see what was going on, the two men fell back again as Cross lifted his eyes, raised his gun and threw it at them, barely giving them a moment to react before he darted out of the booth, shoving them roughly aside as he tore down the corridor – artefact in hand.

" _Shit!"_ Clay hissed, pushing back off the wall and taking off after him, Desmond quickly regaining control of himself and tearing into a sprint alongside Clay to keep up with Cross. His lungs were burning for air but he couldn't afford any time to worry about that – he had the artefact, and they needed to ensure he didn't escape with it.

They could hear Cross yelling at a group of people congregating at the end of the hall who were trying to see what was going on. A woman screamed and made to run away.

"JESUS CHRIST, STOP SCREAMING!" Cross roared at her, and he threw her to the ground as he passed her by. The woman hit the floor, coughing and panting, blood trickling from her nose from the force with which she'd fallen down. Desmond and Clay ran past her, not able to afford the moment to help pull her up. Rebecca's voice was urgent as she cried at them through their headsets.

" _Hurry! If he gets away with the artefact, we're screwed! You CAN'T let that happen!"_

"We know, we know!" Desmond hissed, pushing past another congregation of startled civilians, not even caring to apologise as he caused a young couple to knock right into each other. Adrenalin was pumping viciously through his veins, urging him to run faster, needing to catch up… Cross was quick. Much quicker than he'd expected.

By the look in Clay's eyes as the blond tore past the crowds alongside him, Desmond wasn't the only one apparently thinking that.

" _The garden! Head for the garden!"_

"Give us a moment, for fuck's sake!" Clay snapped, looking agitated as he darted around the corner, Desmond following suit, their shoes skidding loudly across the concrete at their sudden sharp change in direction. They bowled past the checkpoint they'd slipped by earlier, and loud yells erupted behind them through the stadium walls. A darkly clothed figure seemed to jump out before them, and Clay's eyes widened as he realised the hand flying on direct course to his head belonged to one of the Abstergo agents. He acted on instinct – ducking and twisting around out of the way in just enough time to have the agent cry out and stumble forwards – Desmond taking the opportunity to pull his hand back and strike his fist with a sickening crunch into the man's face.

The agent howled in agony, the sharp crack filling the air and the steady streams of blood pooling from his fingertips as he gripped his face telling Desmond that he'd successfully broken his nose, and a grim smile settled itself firmly on Desmond's scarred lips as he brought his knee up, thrusting it cleanly up into the man's chin, sending the agent sprawling backwards onto the ground. He fell, unmoving, knocked out cold.

There was no time for celebration as two more guards sprinted towards them, guns raised. Clay's eyes narrowed and he dashed forwards, barely giving the first agent any time to react as he'd dropped down and slid his leg under the man's own, tripping the agent up and sending him sprawling onto his back. Clay snarled, barely giving the guard any time to blink away the disorientation as he raised his leg and slammed his foot down hard against the Templar's skull – the sheer force of the blow knocking him out immediately. The screams of the crowd as people ran for the nearest exit was overwhelming, dizzying.

The guard who had been holding Desmond at gunpoint faltered, his gaze drawn towards his fallen comrade, and that gave the young assassin all the opportunity he needed. He punched the man cleanly in the jaw, span him around and pulled him up against his chest – just in time to block the bullet that the next guard had been aiming at his head as he approached from the shadows. The agent shuddered and groaned, then slid down lifeless onto the ground, Desmond's face contorted into sheer hatred as he kicked him away. He then lifted his head and locked eyes on the last agent standing there. That moment of uncertainty, of blinding fear etched into that man's face as he looked at Desmond gave Clay the time he needed to run up behind him and land a swift roundhouse kick to the back of his spine. The guard yelped, lurching forwards, hitting the ground and groaning as the pain rocketed through his body. That pain soon grew dull as Desmond threw his fist back and punched him clean in the face when he made to weakly try to lift himself up off the ground again. He landed back on the ground, limbs twitching.

Clay rushed forwards, sparing only a quick look in Desmond's direction and nodding his thanks to the younger man before they resumed falling into step – running down the hallways to the garden entrance. The screams from the crowd continued to pierce their ears, the shrieks and wails almost unbearably loud. Desmond winced against the noise, shaking his head in an effort to try and block it out.

_Focus on the here and now. Cross has the artefact. You can't leave until you have it._

The garden entrance was approaching on the right-hand side.

"Hold up!" Clay exclaimed lowly, pulling Desmond over with him to the wall. A partition screen enabled them to hide out of sight of the garden but still remain close enough to catch glimpses of a lone man pacing back and forth along the walkway outside, a phone raised and pressed to his ear. Desmond looked at Clay, their eyes locking.

They listened in, focusing to try and hear Cross's frantic words.

" _I fucked up, Warren… I fucked up… ran out of bullets... can you_ believe _that shit? Out of_ fucking _bullets! They almost had me… Jesus…"_

They froze, brown and blue eyes unblinking as they fixed on Cross's pacing figure. Then as one those eyes rose to lock onto each other once more.

"Vidic…" Desmond breathed. Clay's expression was stony, his eyes cold.

It wasn't likely that Vidic was here in Brazil. But if he was…

Desmond's hands tightened into fists, and he ignored the splatters of dried blood caking to his knuckles. Cross rose his voice into an angered yell.

" _What do you mean, 'calm down'?! I_ am _calm. I'm fine! I AM_ A-O-FUCKING-KAY!" He yelled, punching his fist into the nearby wall. He didn't even groan, or give any sign that he had been hurt in any way. If anything, it only seemed to fuel his anger even more. He reigned in a sharp breath, clearly forcing himself to inhale and exhale as he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and pulling his hand away from the wall again.

" _Sorry. Sorry. Got a little, uh… you know. I'm on edge man. Always on edge. Losing my goddamn mind…"_ He laughed brokenly. Beside him Desmond was aware of Clay tensing, and he cast the blond a quick look to check to make sure if he was ok. Clay's gaze remained focused solely on Cross, a grim, humourless smile spreading over his lips.

"Remember what I said a while ago, Desmond?" He whispered, finally looking at him again. "About letting me handle him if he decided to flip his lid?"

Desmond nodded. Clay glanced back at the man outside.

"Tonight might just be that night."

Any reply Desmond was about to make was silenced by Cross.

" _Of course I have it. Wonder what it does… why do you think they're after these? … Right. Good idea… Soon as I get back. Just a few hours inside. It'll help, it always helps… alright. I'll wait here for evac."_

Clay looked very solemn indeed as he slowly stepped away from the partition.

"Was he talking about—"

"The animus? Yes," Clay replied, seeming to guess Desmond's train of thought. There was an emptiness in his eyes – cold and heartbreaking. "It's the only thing that helps when your mind falls apart. It's the only thing that keeps you together."

Desmond could only stare at him, all thought momentarily ceasing to function. When he finally did manage to speak up, his voice sounded dry.

"Is that what's going to happen to me?"

Clay didn't answer. He'd already gone outside. Desmond sighed, shaking his head as he tried to push the unpleasant thoughts from his mind, focusing on the here and now as he kept a cautious distance, following the blond to the cover of the bushes but allowing Clay to keep a few steps ahead of him as he trained his eyes on Cross, the man facing with his back to them as he paced to and fro. He was hissing under his breath.

"I need to kill that bastard… _get out of my head, Kenya!"_ He groaned, gripping his brow and clenching his teeth tightly together. Desmond narrowed his eyes.

"Bleeding effect…" Clay muttered lowly, looking at the spectacle playing out before them. Desmond nodded; he'd guessed as much.

"She keeps saying they can stop it and then _this_ happens… have to… have to find a way to keep it under control…" Cross had paused now, panting as he shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. _"Goddamn assassins…"_

"Alright he's distracted – I'm going to take care of him while you grab the artefact," Clay whispered, already making to stand up.

He didn't get much further than that as a sharp yell from behind them made both assassins freeze and turn around, two agents racing into the courtyard from the stadium. They had their eyes trained directly on them both, tasers drawn.

Their cries had also alerted Cross, and with a roar of defiance he dashed forwards, throwing his phone to the ground and seemingly not caring for the way it shattered and broke when it hit the concrete. Clay managed a quick glance at Desmond, his blue eyes wide and the expression on his face clearly telling him to hurry up and deal with the agents as he ducked the oncoming blow Cross would have sent sailing straight to his head if he'd been standing there a second longer. Desmond spurred into action, knowing that he couldn't worry about Clay now; he rolled out of the cover of the bushes, his body poised as he raised his arms defensively, watching the way the agents slowly approached him, tasers swinging menacingly in their hands.

A sharp cry from behind him made one of the two agents look up for a minute, no doubt distracted by the scuffle between Cross and Clay – and that gave Desmond all the openings he needed. He elbowed the guard sharply in the face, grabbing the baton with one hand and wrenching it free from the stunned man's grip, then with his other hand he pulled him around, back facing his chest, and he grit his teeth as he grabbed the baton with both hands and pulled it snug against the flailing man's neck, quickly choking the air out of his lungs as the metal pole crushed his throat inwards. Using the momentum granted to him, Desmond then pulled the baton back when the agent slipped and fell limply to the ground at his feet, and he swung the taser right up into the next guard's stomach, pulling back and slamming it down on top of the man's head when the guard had grunted in pain and dropped to one knee. He, like his comrade, fell backwards unconscious.

A loud yell followed by a sickening thud caused Desmond to raise his eyes, fear stabbing brutally at his chest in that brief lapse of concentration, and he was just in time to see Clay shaking his head clear as he groaned, managing to roll away from the wall Cross had thrown him against in just enough time to avoid being punched squarely in the face. Cross snarled as his hand collided with the brick, splatters of blood dripping from his abused and broken hand, and Clay kneed him sharply in the chest, using the opportunity while Cross was incapacitated to grab him behind the head and slam his skull against the wall.

"Those voices are a bitch, aren't they?" Clay jeered, grinning as he made to pull his hands back to deliver another crushing blow. Cross groaned but he resisted, reaching back around him and grabbing onto Clay's hand – the younger man yelling out again as Cross span him around and punched him cleanly in the jaw. It didn't last long though – Clay managing a smirk despite everything and growling out as he blocked the next oncoming punch as he curled his hand around Cross's fist; he pushed Cross's arm away and kneed him sharply in the gut. "Be careful there, you'll hurt yourself!" Then he grit his teeth, his jeering tone dropping entirely as he growled and brought his head straight down, colliding it on top of Cross's own as he headbutted him. Cross yelped, agony clearly written all over his face, Clay wasting no time in gripping the man by the shoulders and ramming him into the wall again. His consciousness clearly started to slip then, Cross sliding down toward the ground as Clay stepped back, blinking repeatedly a few times as if to clear the double vision.

A small metallic clinking noise echoed around the courtyard, and Clay looked down to see the artefact rolling unceremoniously away from Cross's grip. He leant down to pick it up, casting a final scathing glare in Cross's direction before jogging over to Desmond, motioning for the younger man to hurry up and get his bag open so they could deposit the power source.

"What a bastard," Clay chuckled lightly despite the way he was panting, looking shaken up with bleeding bruises marring his cheeks and jaw but otherwise appearing none too worse for the wear. Desmond didn't comment, instead being as quick as he could in stowing the artefact away and slinging his bag back over his back. He looked up then, his brown eyes clearly filled with concern as he took a moment to look at the blond.

"You feeling ok?"

Clay blinked.

"Well I've been punched in the face a couple of times and used his skull as head-butting practice so what do you think? His head's harder than it looks." He managed a coarse grin but winced a second later, shaking his head again and rubbing his brow. "Motherfucker…"

Desmond clasped the man on the shoulder.

"You're fine," he waved it off, pressing a finger to the headset in his ear as they raced out of the courtyard, running back through to the entrance they had taken to get into the garden on the way in.

"Rebecca we have it. We're making our way back to the hotel."

" _Thank god. I'm booking the jet now – you two better make it back here in ten minutes."_

"Make it twenty, we're really popular right now," Clay spoke up, pulling Desmond into a sprint down the stairwell as more guards burst in from behind the ticket booths, guns drawn. What few members of the crowd remained screamed and panicked, people darting this way and that as the agents pushed them roughly out of the way, yelling at them coarsely to move it.

Desmond didn't think he'd ever run so fast in his life as he tore along the metro exit, both he and Clay panting for breath but refusing to cave in and prepare themselves for another fight. They shoved pedestrians out of their path; women screamed and children clung to their parents, eyes wide with fear as the two men sprinted past, guards armed to the teeth chasing swiftly after them.

"Where do we go?!" Desmond hissed, his eyes darting around frantically for a place to hide as they broke forth from the subterranean exit and burst out onto the crowded streets, barely noticing the way people shrieked and ran away from them. Clay grabbed his arm, pulling Desmond along as he motioned towards the left.

"This way!"

They kicked their legs into motion again – and not a moment too soon, as a gunshot echoed shrilly around the streets with a spent bullet discarding neatly into the sidewalk where Desmond had been standing just mere seconds before. The young assassin could barely think, could barely feel _anything_ save for the fear gripping his heart in its cold, cruel hold.

"Holy _shit!"_

Clay's grip tightened on his arm and he jerked his head in the direction of a park which was coming up now on their right. Desmond nodded, the pair making a sharp right and tearing across the open grass, their shoes crunching on leaves and twigs. The yells of the guards grew steadily fainter over the gusts of wind that whipped at their hair and faces, causing Desmond's hood to fall back down the faster he ran forwards. He didn't have the time to care at that point, as they ducked behind the trunk of a large evergreen tree hidden behind the shadows of a raised plantation of hedges and they paused, catching their breath as they doubled over.

Clay leant back against the tree, the man rubbing a hand over his face (being careful to avoid the bruises) as his breaths slowed down. Desmond's eyes roamed the back of the park, hoping to catch any sight of the Templars they had momentarily lost sight of. So far, nothing. He could hear the sounds of commotion echo over the wind, and he didn't entirely want to know what the hell was going on back there. All that mattered was that they were safe for the moment.

At least he _had_ thought they were safe.

The sound of movement from nearby made him freeze, Clay also tensing and remaining on high alert as he fixed panicked eyes on the younger man. The pair slowly turned their heads at the sound of footsteps quickly approaching…

And they exhaled sharply as it wasn't anything except a young couple strolling by on the garden path, looking shocked and confused as they no doubt tried to comprehend what had been going on in the street behind them when they walked into the park. They averted their gaze, apparently having seen all that they'd needed to, and they resumed walking together, laughing softly every so often as they chatted away to one another now that whatever crisis it was had passed. Sharing a glance with Clay, Desmond turned his head back to glance around the tree again.

"Are we in the clear yet?" Clay whispered. Their breathing had noticeably calmed down now, both men able to talk without gasping for air mid-sentence. Their limbs still trembled and ached, however.

"So far so good," Desmond answered him, heaving a sigh and feeling himself relax somewhat the longer time passed without any sign of the agents making their way closer. He rubbed a hand through his hair, closing his eyes as he thought about the best way to get back to the hotel from here. As it was, he couldn't risk asking Rebecca for directions right now as they weren't entirely sure if the agents had followed them this far yet. Clay turned now to have a look himself, and a few minutes passed again in silence.

However that silence didn't last for long. Desmond was brought out of his bitter reverie by Clay when the blond snapped his head back around, his eyes wide. Desmond felt a surge of dread settle within the pit of his stomach.

"… They're coming, aren't they?"

"Two of them. They broke away from the others."

Desmond cussed, chancing another look around the side of the tree trunk and almost cussing aloud again when he saw that Clay was indeed right. He looked back at him.

"What do we do?"

"We can't fight them, that's for damn sure," Clay explained, nodding to the young couple still strolling along a few feet away. Desmond hissed under his breath, clapping his hand to his forehead again. Clay had a point. If they were to draw those agents into open conflict, it wouldn't be just them who would be injured… those two civilians would also undoubtedly be caught in the crossfire and they would be dead before either of them knew it.

"What do we do?" He whispered again, hoarsely this time. They were hidden enough by the shadow of the trees that they wouldn't be immediately recognisable if the agents decided to chance a look in their direction... but having said that, if they _did_ think about coming over to investigate more thoroughly, they'd be screwed. He could hear the footsteps growing closer. He looked up and saw Clay gazing at him, his expression echoing one of the deepest, utmost regret. He reached out, moving to grip Desmond's shoulders before the younger assassin could get a chance to question him.

"I'm sorry about this, Desmond. Whatever you do, just roll with it until they're gone." The blond's tone was unusually serious, sombre even.

And before he could question him again, Clay had wrapped an arm around his hip and had drawn him in close, flush against his body as he captured Desmond's lips in a sudden, hard kiss, just as the two Templar agents turned the corner, peering around the tree trunk.

Desmond froze, his mind momentarily going blank. He was unable to process what had just happened, and it didn't register until a few seconds passed that Clay was… actually…

His eyes widened and he felt fear and revulsion crawl its way into his stomach, every instinct of his screaming at him to pull away, to punch him in the face to get him off, to do _something…_ the warning look fired at him made him still though, Clay's eyes open and boring into his own.

The look on his face told him all he needed to know.

_They're watching, you idiot. Don't fucking give us away._

Desmond had no choice. He snapped his eyes shut and tried to relax, his hands twitching as they slowly reached out to grasp weakly at either side of Clay's neck, doing his best to ignore the way Clay's hands tightened around his back and his lips moved over his own.

His mouth was firm, he found himself thinking. Firm and warm.

He found himself needing to breathe and his lips parted of their own accord in some desperate attempt to gasp for air, and he was only allowed a second of reprieve before Clay's mouth found his own again, Desmond unable to do anything else except press back and clamp his lips over the blond's to try and keep some form of rhythm going. 

It did nothing to cease the warning sirens flaring throughout his body. But he couldn't worry about that now.

He strained his ears to catch any sight of the agents' conversations. Sure enough he heard them mutter to one another. He didn't understand what they were saying, but by the disgust in their voices he could hazard a guess.

Their footsteps slowly faded away.

As soon as he deemed they were gone, Desmond pulled away, coughing and gasping as he rubbed his mouth, Clay following suit as he groaned something scathing under his breath.

Desmond's eyes were watering as he glared angrily back at the blond, his lips tingling.

"What… what the _fucking hell was that for?!_ "

Clay fired an equally hard look back at him.

"Hide in plain sight? Wasn't that one of the first and oldest creeds of the assassins when they first came about? Believe me I didn't want to do it either, but I had no choice."

Desmond groaned, hissing under his breath as he looked back at the young couple still strolling along on the garden path. They were so enthralled in their walk and their conversation that they hadn't even noticed the agents walking by mere moments ago. Despite how his skin crawled, Desmond had to admit that Clay _did_ have another point. He groaned.

"Let's… never talk about this again." He snapped. Clay shuddered.

"Agreed."


	14. Chapter 14

"You there, Rebecca?" Desmond sounded weary as he tapped the side of his headset, their steps slow and measured as he and Clay walked back through the park. They kept a noticeable distance from one another, as if to put as much space as possible between them. They hadn't uttered a single word since they unanimously agreed to get back to the hotel after waiting another ten minutes in the shade of the trees.

" _Yeah I'm here. You two disappeared off the grid for a bit. Where are you?"_

Desmond almost breathed a sigh of relief. That was promising, at least. After all if Rebecca had seen… _that_ … on the video feed then he honestly didn't know how he'd get himself out of that one. Jumping off a cliff seemed the most logical answer, but then again the sun was planning on cooking all of humanity in a couple of weeks anyway so maybe he would just run out head-first to greet it.

The more his brain flashed back to that moment, where he'd been… he swallowed thickly, trying his hardest not to think back on that. Of course it didn't help that his mouth was still tingling.

"We're uh… in a park. Took a left after we escaped the metro and we're kinda lost now," he explained. He could have sworn he felt Clay's eyes on him then, and he resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably as he picked up the speed of his steps.

"… _Are you ok?"_

"Yeah I'm fine. Why?" Desmond answered, a little _too_ quickly. He grit his teeth. There was a brief silence on the other end, and if he concentrated hard enough he could almost practically feel Rebecca's eyes narrowed at him at this moment.

" _You just sound a little out of breath, is all. But you're both alive and that's all that matters. Get back onto the main street and take a right when you hit the crossing. It's straight down that way."_

"Thanks," Desmond sighed, switching his microphone off. A quick glance in Clay's direction told him that Clay had already slipped the headset off his ears, and he'd placed it in his jacket pocket. Desmond swallowed thickly, trying to loosen the tightness of his throat as he then cast another look around them, as if making sure they were the only ones here. For the minute they were. Then he rounded on the blond.

"Ok I know we said we wouldn't talk about it but _seriously_ —"

"But what? For Christ's sake Desmond if you're not gonna let that slide I'm going to punch you in the face," came Clay's sharp retort. He looked annoyed. "If Abstergo are onto your ass the last thing you want to do is be discovered when you're trying to _avoid_ them at all costs in the first place!"

Desmond gazed coolly at him.

"And I'm sure that was the _only_ thing you could have done then to make sure they didn't spot us," he answered drily. Clay's eyes narrowed.

"You think I honestly _enjoyed_ that?!" He sounded incredulous now. "You're fucked in the head, Miles! Believe me I wish you had a nice pair of tits on you to make it easier for me but unfortunately you don't so I had to make do with what I had."

Desmond scoffed, running a hand over his face.

"What's done is done, we managed to give them the slip, and we prolonged our lives for another couple of days or so. So stop bitching about it and man up. We have more important things at stake here so can we _please_ drop this and get back to the others?"

Desmond lowered his hand, his own eyes narrowing this time as he looked back at the blond. He certainly wanted to add a few things to say about that, but the sharp look fired his way from Clay silenced him. Desmond then sighed, groaning a little and letting his shoulders slump. He took a moment to think about Clay's words, as much as he stubbornly wanted to ignore the logic behind them. It was a losing battle, however. He felt himself deflate, and it was as if a fire within him had died. He stopped walking, and he was left sliding down to the ground as he dropped to the pavement and leant his back against a nearby gate.

This was getting nowhere. They had more important things to focus on now instead of going on at each other about something stupid which had caused them to successfully escape capture through a sheer stroke of genius and dumb luck.

"Look. If you want an apology from me, I'll give you one. I'm sorry, alright?" Clay's voice was barely audible, and the blond sounded as defeated as Desmond felt as he paused in his steps and looked back at him.

Desmond didn't say anything for a while, but somehow he managed to force a smile on his lips.

"… S'ok," he mumbled at length. "You're right, after all." It pained him to admit it, but if it was the other way around he probably would have done exactly the same as Clay and taken the initiative in that moment. And with that knowledge firmly planted in the front of his brain, he gave a tired laugh and rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "This is stupid. I mean... what are we even doing right now?"

Clay looked at him with a brow raised.

"Aside from wasting time pointlessly arguing over nothing?"

Desmond nodded, sighing heavily. He heard footsteps draw closer, and he didn't need to look up to know that Clay was standing in front of him again. But he looked up anyway. And when he did, his smile was less forced... though it was still bitter.

"I should be thanking your sorry ass for saving our lives back there."

Clay scoffed, looking mildly amused.

"You think?" But despite the edge to his voice, he looked noticeably more relaxed than he had a few moments prior. There was another silence, broken only by the sound of commotion on the roads, city-goers walking to and fro, police sirens sounding faintly in the distance as they no doubt made their way over to investigate the stadium. They turned their heads, watching the cars veer along on the roads, the siren's wails growing increasingly louder. Another crowd had started to gather near the metro entrance in the far distance.

"... We should go."

Desmond nodded absentmindedly, though he made no move to stand from where he sat now. He was distracted, mind lost in the thoughts about the events that had led up to that fateful moment. He could still feel the lingering touch of Clay's mouth on his back from where he'd kissed him. He rubbed his eyes with his hands. He didn't even have the energy to shudder, though he dearly wanted to.

_I don't even care anymore._

He didn't. In fact the more he sat here the more he realised how tired he really was. He wanted to go back to the temple. He wanted to lie down and fall asleep and he wanted to not wake up for a whole fucking year and a half. He just didn't care.

"Next time... if you're ever going to do something like that again to give them the slip," he mumbled behind his hand, "at least give me some kind of warning first."

Brown eyes met blue, and Clay fell silent. He didn't say anything for a long while, but when he eventually did... it was with a curt nod and a small smile, forced as it was. Then he reached down, extending his hand for Desmond to grab onto.

"C'mon."

Desmond clasped his hand, gripping it firmly as he accepted the man's help and stood back up, dusting himself off. Then he clapped the blond on the shoulder, murmuring his thanks as they resumed walking side by side, the tension they'd suffered earlier momentarily resolved somewhat. They lapsed once more into silence, their feet crunching along the scattered plastic wrappers littering the streets from thrown away food, the pair having now stepped onto the sidewalk as they veered off towards the intersection some ways up ahead. The blaring of horns and traffic around them provided a thankful respite from having to think any further about the matter, seeing as it was too damn loud for them to hear their own thoughts anyway.

At least, for Desmond it was. Clay had long since perfected the art of withdrawing into himself, focusing completely on nothing but his thoughts and his thoughts alone as the outside world seemed to merely slip away, fading into nothing but a background hum.

And right now, his mind was in turmoil.

If he was perfectly honest with himself, he hadn't even thought his plan through back in the park. He'd simply acted on instinct – it was either be caught then and there or be alive for a little while longer until Abstergo went looking for them again at a later date. Obviously he'd opted for the latter. In retrospect he probably _should_ have given Desmond some prior indication of what he was about to do, but at the same time… he wouldn't have been able to. The agents had been _right there_ for Christ's sake! Still though, he was thankful that despite his clear discomfort about the situation, Desmond had went along with it for the most part.

Which brought him to the next matter at hand. Did Clay feel bad about making Desmond uncomfortable like that? Yes. If there was such a thing as going back in time, would he have done something else in that moment? Definitely yes.

He tried to justify it with himself, tried to go over the facts in his head – anything to try and _forget_.

He felt disgusted. He'd just kissed another _man_ for fuck's sake – and that was something that the real Clay definitely hadn't done when he was alive (nor would he _ever_ do, if he was still around today). It certainly hadn't been pleasurable, that was for sure. But again at the same time, it wasn't like there had been many overall pleasurable experiences within Clay's life that his construct could compare the feeling to. If anything, it was… odd. Not an entirely 'good' odd, either. The only thing that made it remotely better was the fact that at least the two of them were still on speaking terms and there were no more hard feelings for the most part... but that still wasn't enough.

To take his mind off the matter he forcefully pushed it from his brain, lifting his head then and taking in the night time streets of Brazil. Dazzling lights and infinite skyscrapers met his eyes, the very place seeming to throb and pulse with activity. A thick layer of cloud spanned over the dark sky, masking what would have otherwise have been a rather clear night. The wind had picked up since they'd left the stadium, and even now he could feel it brushing through his hair; it was a nice, calming sensation – something greatly needed considering the recent turn of events. The sidewalks however were still packed with people and remained difficult to move through, so it took them longer than they ideally would have liked to reach the intersection, wait for all the cars to drive past, and then dash back over to the other side. They had the artefact though, so that was a relief. Cross, however, was the real issue here. Him and Abstergo.

He'd honestly not expected Cross to show up here tonight. Did he think that they'd undoubtedly run into him again? Yes, he had. Still, it greatly unnerved Clay.

_How did he know we'd be here tonight, of all places? There must be hundreds of artefacts scattered across the globe and he just_ happens _to be in Brazil looking for the same artefact we are._

Something was wrong here. He didn't want to admit it, but Clay realised that that could mean only one thing: somewhere, somehow along the line… they'd been compromised. But _how?_ And by _whom?_

He only hoped they'd find out before it was too late. He thought about bringing up his concerns with Desmond, but the minute that idea popped into his head he paused, lifting his gaze and glancing at the brown haired man who was still walking beside him, lost in thought. _No._ He'd give him some time to calm down first.

_There's a time and a place for everything. This here right now isn't one of them._

He'd have a better chance loading his concerns onto Shaun or Rebecca, and _that_ was saying something. So for now he simply settled for looking around him, taking in the city and enjoying the nightlife. After all, with the threat of the world's demise hanging so heavily in the air… it might very well be the last opportunity he'd have.

* * *

The moment they walked back into the lobby of the hotel, the pair couldn't help but gag a little at the smell of the air conditioning – having blissfully forgotten all about it when they'd headed off to the stadium. Trying to keep their eyes from watering as they slipped past reception (there was no one there, anyway), they dashed up the stairs, wanting to reach the room as quickly as they could.

Ten minutes later saw them finally ascending the landing to the 20th floor, and panting softly from all the exertion up the previous 19 stairwells they slowed down into a light jog as they approached the room that Rebecca had booked for the night. They knocked on the door, only having to knock once before it was flung open by a very eager looking Shaun.

"Well, do you have it?" He asked, stepping aside to let them through.

"We nearly get our asses handed to us by Abstergo and we have to hide out in the park for half a fucking hour and that's the _first_ thing you ask us, Shaun?" Desmond muttered as he pushed past him. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bag on his back. "Yes we fucking have it."

Shaun rolled his eyes.

"Well excuse me for having greater concerns to worry about than your personal wellbeing when we already knew you were both alive and well, Desmond," he snapped back. He turned his head to Clay. "What's his problem?"

Clay narrowed his eyes.

"You wanna do the fieldwork from now on?" He asked icily.

Shaun apparently got the point and he thankfully let the matter slide.

"I booked the flight," Rebecca spoke up from the corner where she was huddled over her laptop. "We're getting picked up by the contact and he'll have us on a jet back home within the hour."

"How long until he gets here?" Clay asked. Rebecca looked at him.

"Twenty minutes or so."

Clay nodded, stifling a yawn with his hand. It was then that Rebecca blinked, taking a long look at him.

"Was that Cross?" She motioned to Clay's face.

Clay paused, feeling momentarily taken aback by the question. He then looked in the mirror on the wall and saw the reason for Rebecca's inquiry. Ignoring Mark's face staring back at him, he focused on the dark purple bruises littered all along his chin and jaw, but as he lifted a hand to touch them gingerly he relaxed as he felt no outstanding pain anywhere. They'd heal soon enough.

"Yeah. He kind of popped up out of nowhere," he answered, looking back at her.

"Why was he there?" Everyone turned to face Desmond then, the man sitting up from where he'd laid himself out over the bed for a couple of minutes. His brows were knotted into a frown, concern bleeding through into his brown eyes. His hands were clasped tightly together in front of him.

"There's more than one artefact out there in the world… how did he know to come _here_ tonight?"

Clay couldn't hide the bitter smile that crossed his lips. He wanted to thank Desmond for bringing this up (meaning that he didn't have to), but he remained silent as he leant against the wall.

"You said they had posters up, yes?" Shaun mused, striding forwards and crossing his arms over his chest. Desmond looked at him.

"Yeah, and Rebecca said they'd placed them everywhere an artefact was housed," he reminded him. Shaun frowned.

"Then… and I hope this certainly isn't the case, but do you think it's possible we've been tracked since before we even left America?"

"I think that's exactly what happened." The room was silent as heads turned to look at Clay, who'd decided to give his input. "I think we've been compromised, specifically."

The tension that settled in the air seemed to have been so thick one could have cut it with a knife.

Desmond shifted forwards a little from where he was sitting upright.

"I think we have, too. We know we've been careful with hiding our tracks… we got here using fake passports, Mark made sure Abstergo wouldn't be alerted when our tickets were presented at the airport, we haven't talked to anyone since coming here unless you count that cab driver and the receptionist here at the hotel… but if Abstergo had already put the posters up here, wouldn't it also make sense to say that they've had someone watch us the entire time? Not necessarily in Brazil, but back home?"

"That's entirely plausible but that's just the thing – we've had no indication whatsoever that we've been watched. Aside from Juno that is, but she only seems intent on making your life miserable and keeping the rest of us out of it," Shaun explained.

"Thanks," Desmond retorted drily. Shaun merely shrugged his shoulders.

"… Wait a second…" Eyes swivelled around to fix on Clay again, the man's blue eyes widening slowly as he took a step forwards. Something Desmond had just said didn't sit well with him. He looked at him then, fixing the younger man with a steady gaze. "What did you just say? About talking to no one since we arrived?"

Desmond appeared confused.

"Well yeah, aside from our driver earlier on and the reception desk… wha—" He stopped mid-sentence, his words falling flat. Then, he slowly returned Clay's stare, and they both knew in that moment that they'd come to the same conclusion. "Oh _no_ …"

"What? What is it?" Rebecca hissed urgently. Desmond tore his gaze away to look at her.

"That cab driver from earlier on seem a little too interested in us to you?" He asked quietly. It took only a second. And then Rebecca's and Shaun's faces promptly fell.

" _Shit…_ " Rebecca groaned. The colour seemed to have drained from Shaun's face.

"He didn't give a toss about Rebecca or me…" He murmured. "He was asking about you a lot instead… you specifically, Desmond."

Desmond sighed. Shaun now looked like he was about to be sick.

"Why didn't we pick up on this sooner?"

"You mean why didn't _you_ pick up on this sooner?!" Rebecca had now stood up, the woman throwing her hands into the air in frustration as she rounded on the Brit. "You kept on talking to him and feeding him all the information he wanted, you idiot! Didn't it strike you as remotely odd that he kept on _asking about him specifically?!_ "

"Alright Rebecca calm down!" Desmond interrupted, standing from the bed now. She fell quiet, glaring scathingly at Shaun who had taken a step back as if to somehow shrink back against the wall in the hopes that it would swallow him up. Trying his hardest to keep the peace, Desmond took a deep breath and waited a moment before continuing.

"We can't blame Shaun for this, as much as I'd like to—"

"Hey!"

"—But wouldn't it make sense that the reason he was asking about me was because he saw me on one of those posters? He recognised me. He asked about me because of that very reason. Then he informed Abstergo that he was aware of my location, which is when they sent Cross in. I'm not saying this actually _happened_ or not, but it's at least a plausible explanation, right?"

"It is," Clay agreed. He looked like he was about to say something else when Rebecca beat him to it.

"Regardless of what happened or didn't happen to get Cross to show up tonight, _if_ the driver informed them of our location that means we should hurry up and get out of here. Like, now. We'll have plenty of time to think over this later when we're back home and hopefully safe in the temple."

That seemed to jostle everyone out of their thoughts, and sharing quick glances with one another they moved to grab bags, pick up laptops, and hastily clear the room as quickly as they could, seeing as Rebecca also reminded them that their contact would be arriving any minute now. The artefact felt heavy once more upon Desmond's back as he led them downstairs, taking the steps almost two at a time in his hurry to get out of the building. Clay was effortlessly keeping up with him, he and Desmond being the first to land on the ground floor some ten minutes later. They glanced around them, looking for whoever was meant to be staffed at the reception desk in the sparse lobby. It was still empty. Frowning, they shared another brief look in each other's direction.

"Where's the receptionist?" Shaun asked, panting as he doubled over and clutched his chest.

"Doesn't matter," Rebecca announced, swiping the room key from Shaun's grip and chucking it unceremoniously at the desk. Shaun balked, gaping at the technician even as she motioned for everyone to keep following her, and she dashed out the front doors with Clay and Desmond in tow. Shaun finally managed to regain enough sense over himself to follow when they angrily called his name, and he burst through the entrance doors just as a sleek, four door metallic black SUV pulled up by the sidewalk.

"That's our ride!" Rebecca announced, barely waiting for the car to screech to a halt before throwing open the doors and piling inside on the passenger seat. Shaun followed suit, grumbling something scathing to himself as he took the back. Then he was followed by Desmond and Clay, and the two elicited sharp exhales of relief as they sank back against the leather seating, slamming the door shut behind them just as the driver pulled away from the sidewalk and hit the gas – the car screeching away down the road.

* * *

It was a thirty minute drive from the hotel, but time seemed to have passed quickly as the car ground to a halt in front of a fenced off airfield. The driver (a man who looked to be around his mid to late thirties), was speaking with Rebecca as Shaun, Desmond and Clay raced off towards the jet which was already parked out on the tarmac. It was a private jet – one that bore some similar resemblance to those which Desmond would often see politicians chartering on TV – and as they found their seats inside it was another fifteen minutes still until their pilot boarded (as did Rebecca) and they prepared to take off.

"What was that all about?" Shaun asked, motioning to the pilot (who also happened to have been their driver). Rebecca took her seat in front of him and exhaled slowly as she looked out the window as the craft circled the runway.

"I was getting some intel on when those agents started showing up. He confirmed that there was no sign of Abstergo until this afternoon. And you know what the best part is?"

"What?" Shaun asked wearily. Rebecca fixed a grim smile on Desmond.

"I think you were right. They didn't start arriving until just after we landed."

Desmond nodded, not able to do much more than that.

"So the driver _did_ tip them off…" Clay mused, sighing heavily as he closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the headrest.

"Just for the record… I think it's safe to say that until this blows over and we save the world and all that, we shouldn't talk to anyone aside from ourselves and our other team members at HQ," Shaun added. Rebecca fixed him with an icy stare.

"Yes Shaun. You _shouldn't_."

Shaun looked like he was about to retort, his glare angry as he fired the woman a sharp look behind his glasses, but he was interrupted by Desmond who had chosen that moment to interject, wanting to stop this before it got out of hand.

"Right, now that's sorted out I want a drink. Can you order beers on this flight?"

That had thankfully distracted everyone away from the matter at hand for the meantime, and the rest of the journey proved as restful as it possibly could all things considered as the drinks were ordered and they were allowed a few hours to themselves to relax.

They'd arrived back in the US shortly before dawn, on a singular landing strip privately owned by the pilot (used mainly for the safe transfers of assassins between South America and the North), and they were surprised to find none other than William waiting for them by the tarmac, the van parked with its doors open. He didn't appear to have any care for asking how they were however as he took one look at all of them and motioned for them to hurry up and get going. He fell into conversation with the pilot as Shaun sidled into the driver's seat, Rebecca taking her usual spot next to him with Clay and Desmond sitting in the back. To Desmond it felt weird sitting here without having the animus to look at, and he realised then how much space the van was capable of holding.

It was another ten minutes or so until William made himself known again, and the moment he hoisted himself up into the back of the van, he'd shut the doors and Shaun drove them away from the airfield, back on course for the temple. He took one look at all of them (Desmond especially), and he sat back and opened his mouth to speak.

"I've just been informed about the status in Brazil," he began. "With how things had been looking and by Rebecca's report it seems like you were all lucky to leave the country alive. We can't afford to make this same mistake again." He had a hard tone to his voice, and Desmond had the distinct impression that he was being scolded. He frowned, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He felt like he was a kid all over again… and he hated it. He didn't get time to think on it any further however as William apparently hadn't finished speaking yet. "But the most important thing is that the artefact is safely within our possession and we have no casualties on our side. But this just means that things won't go so smoothly next time."

"Not like it went smoothly this time either," Clay muttered under his breath. Desmond had to agree with that.

"What would you have us do then, Bill?" Shaun queried from the front. "I've been conducting further searches into their database and they've really locked down on those power source locations. They're trying to trap us. Cross is going to be waiting for us no matter where we go from here on out."

"We'll think about it when we get back to the temple and after Desmond gets back in the animus. We're almost on the home stretch here – the amulet's whereabouts is within our grasp and the twenty first is just over two weeks away. Right now we just have to be thankful that our location is a secret for the time being, and even Abstergo doesn't know why we're looking for these things."

"How can you be so sure?" Desmond asked then, feeling confusion overwrite his frustration. His father looked at him.

"They'd have already visited the temple and ransacked the place the very moment they'd first secured their hold on the artefacts. Also the fact that each artefact has been kept in the utmost minimal security up until now is something to consider."

There was a pause for thought then, everyone falling silent and glancing at one another. William's words certainly made sense, and despite the severity of the situation it was some small relief to know that the assassins were in possession of knowledge that the Templars didn't have. For now, at least.

William cleared his throat.

"We'll worry about the fine print later. For now, Shaun… hurry up and get us back there in one piece."

Shaun apparently had no argument to that, and he slammed his foot down on the gas. Desmond allowed himself a minute to unhook his bag off his shoulders, unzipping it and reaching in to pull out the artefact within. He could feel both Clay's and his father's gazes on the heavy metallic cube in his palm, and he tested its weight in idle fascination as he passed it from hand to hand. It bore the same markings, the same odd protruding ridges on its surface as the other two had, and Desmond found himself wondering if all of them looked like this.

How many of them would that temple even _need_ to be fully powered up? How did these things even work as batteries?

Thinking over this now reminded him that he still had so much left to learn about the place that they'd been living in for practically a whole month now – and with a grim smile he realised that perhaps he might not get the opportunity to unravel all its secrets at all. Thankfully he was prevented from thinking down that particular line of things by the hand reaching out to grab the artefact from him. He let Clay take it, his arms dropping uselessly into his lap as the blond sat back and raked his eyes over it, his brows furrowing as he traced over some of the markings with his fingertips.

Desmond stayed like that for the rest of the trip to the temple, simply sitting there and gazing off in front of him with blank eyes. Even when Clay nudged him in the shoulder to try and get him to stand up, the van trundling into a halt by the clearing that Shaun often parked in near the temple grounds, it took Desmond a moment to realise that he should be moving. He sighed, finally pulling himself out of it and casting a weak smile up in Clay's direction before standing and stretching his arms above his head, jumping down onto the grass below and stifling a yawn with his hand as he followed the others back down towards the cave entrance.

It was then that he realised he was bruised, his chest aching with each step. He groaned, clasping his hand to his side gingerly and wincing when the movement of doing so made his breath hitch uncomfortably. He was aware of someone falling into step beside him and he shook his head.

"I'm fine," he murmured quietly to Clay. "Just need to get cleaned up and crash for the night. If my dad wants me to get back in the animus while I'm gone tell him to go fuck himself and jump off a cliff."

Clay offered a somewhat weak grin.

"Noted."

They didn't say anything else to each other, but it was clear by the tones of their voices and the fact that they were joking that they had indeed – for the most part anyway – come to a mutual understanding that the previous day's events were just that; previous day. All in the past. And it was time to move on, to forgive and forget.

As he made his way towards the underground spring that Shaun had discovered the day they first arrived here and the group had since been using intermittently as their source of fresh water and a running shower over the course of their stay at the temple, Desmond found that that helped to take his mind off of the unease that had settled firmly within his brain the second he stepped foot back in those darkened, ancient corridors – the air dropping swiftly in temperature as well as the feeling rising in the back of his head that he was somehow, somewhere being _watched_ by something.

Or some _one._

And he had a pretty damn good idea who.

To distract himself he looked down at his chest as he bathed, biting his lip when he saw the angry red bruise marring the upper half of his torso. He didn't remember being hit there by anything, but then again… so many things had happened this past day that he wasn't surprised in the slightest. So instead he paid it no mind, standing there and simply soaking in the water as it sprayed over his limbs and worked to refresh his weary self. It was ice cold, but frankly he didn't give a shit at that point. He'd long since learnt how to ignore it anyway.

And it worked. From the time he took to shower to the time it took him to trudge towards his room and slip himself under the blankets on his makeshift bed and close his eyes – not caring for further conversation with anyone until the morning – he had been so distracted by these welcoming change of thoughts that he hadn't noticed it immediately at first.

It started out soft, like a whisper of wind through the grass.

Then it grew over time, slowly yet surely increasing in both volume and intensity. Until it was all he could hear. All he could think.

And all he could feel.

"… _Salvation… they found a way… too late for them… but not for you… sealed… to protect it… though now it bars your way… find the key… the past will tell…"_

When he slipped into sleep it was to wake up to the vision of Juno once again invading his dreams and turning them into nightmares.


	15. Chapter 15

As Desmond sipped his morning coffee he couldn't help but feel a sense of dread lodge itself neatly within the very pit of his stomach as he scrolled through the day's emails.

Shaun's reports about Abstergo continuously locking down the artefacts was troubling, and it appeared that they were more and more focused on trying to corner the assassins – veering them towards a singular location. In this case, it was the artefact that Shaun had said was in Cairo.

"I don't get it. Why are they so interested in wanting to drag us to Cairo?" He'd asked a short while ago when the Brit had entered the room, having just woken up. Desmond hadn't been able to sleep at all last night, and he'd been out here well before anyone else. He'd considered waking Clay up (the man was still asleep), but he realised that that wouldn't go down well. Hell, just looking at him lying there he could see that he'd need every second of sleep he could get - considering everything that happened in Brazil and everything that was still _going_ to happen with Abstergo when they eventually carted themselves off to Egypt.

Shaun had then promptly dragged him out of these melancholy thoughts by offering a heavy sigh, followed by a sombre confession.

"Probably because they're hoping we'll get desperate enough trying to find these things that we'll have no choice but to head over there… and they'll have us trapped before we know it."

That sobered Desmond up considerably, and he was left to groan quietly to himself when Shaun had walked off.

He'd been sitting here ever since.

According to the computer the time was close to eleven in the morning, and everyone had noticeably put a brief hold on the animus. The reason for doing so was that Shaun had told William that he'd been wanting to conduct further searches on the next artefact's location – as well as Rebecca needing to do tests to ensure that the power source Clay had inserted into one of the old rooms up above before going to bed last night would give the animus enough power to last until they'd need another one. William had grudgingly agreed, and he'd gone outside to do some surveillance.

So all in all, Desmond was given an extra three hours to himself.

To take his mind off of things (he'd long since pushed the visions from last night out of his head, Juno having been more persistent than usual in showing him how her people had failed time and time again) he continued scrolling through his emails, reading here and deleting a few there – and he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he hadn't noticed the system pop-up alerting him that he'd received another. As soon as he realised, he warily clicked on it, not entirely looking forward to the prospect of Juno hacking into his inbox again. As soon as he saw the sender though he let out a sharp exhale of relief. It was Clay.

_You still on break time?_

Desmond typed out a reply, glad for something to do and something to take his mind off of the increasing source of his worry.

_Yeah dad's not back yet. Shaun was here a while ago but he's not exactly fun to talk to. Where are you even sending me this from?_ He paused, glancing behind him quickly as if to check to make sure that the blond wasn't sitting at the computer behind him again. He wasn't. He frowned, pressing enter and waiting a moment for a response.

When he got one, he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

_Our room. I stole Bill's iPad last night before I went to sleep._

He sighed, tapping away on the keyboard.

_Of course you did._

He sipped at some more of his coffee, scrolling back through the next page of emails. He really needed to spend more time on actually answering some of these – mainly so he could tell everyone to _stop_ sending him emails in the first place. He just deleted them all, anyway.

_Had to do something productive with my time. Any word from the bitch in the white dress?_

There was no guesses as to who Clay was referring to when his next message came through. Desmond smiled grimly, scrolling back through his inbox. So far, nothing. He felt rather relieved at that and he worked on typing out another reply.

_Not yet._

If Clay had been woken up at any stage during the night by Desmond, he hadn't told him. The fact that he was asking if he'd been contacted by her again was an indication that maybe, for once, Desmond had actually been able to sleep through it without screaming at the top of his lungs. The thought was rather uplifting, and when he saw the next reply from him Desmond's mood improved considerably.

_Great. I was working on drafting a message to send to her if she decides to get in touch with you again. Let me know if this looks good or not:_

And as Desmond scrolled down to see the next half of the message, he felt his jaw slowly drop. He looked exasperated, running his eyes over the 0s and 1s that were bleeding out across the screen.

_01001010 01110101 01101110 01101111 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100001 00100000 01100010 01101001 00101101 01110000 01101111 01101100 01100001 01110010 00100000 01101101 01100001 01101110 01101001 01110000 01110101 01101100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01100010 01101001 01110100 01100011 01101000 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01110011 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101110 01100101 01100101 01100100 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100111 01100101 01110100 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110000 01110010 01101001 01101111 01110010 01101001 01110100 01101001 01100101 01110011 00100000 01110011 01101111 01110010 01110100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00101110_

He took a moment to compose himself, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes and sighing.

"What in the hell…" He trailed off, not even wanting to bother going there as he replied.

_The fuck?_

He thought that was an apt response. He sent it off, his exasperation only further dampening his amusement. Trust Clay to come up with something like that. When he got a reply he swore he could almost feel the blond laughing his head off right about now.

_Basically it says she's a bi-polar manipulative bitch and she needs to get her priorities sorted out. I was going for subtlety._

Desmond was about ready to give up at this point.

_How in the hell is that subtle?_

It didn't take long for him to get an answer.

_Believe me Desmond, compared to what I really want to say to her, that_ _IS_ _subtle._

He paused at that, finding he couldn't really fault Clay's logic for that one. He didn't respond for a while, instead distracted for the minute by the inane banter that Rebecca had forwarded to him from Shaun. Then he found he had received a new email.

The sender was simply '01001010010101010100111001001111'. He knew enough binary code to know exactly what that spelled out. He only cast a quick glance at the message she'd sent him before forwarding it to Clay. No other message. No explanation, nothing.

Sure enough it wasn't long until he heard footsteps, and Clay himself walked in from the side corridor which he'd just arrived from, placing William's iPad down on Shaun's computer desk as he strode over to Desmond. His expression was very sombre indeed as he walked up to the monitor, his brows knotted together as he studied the email once again.

_My father was taken from me by human hands. A war they called it. For their freedom. They were not even meant to exist. YOU were not meant to exist. We conjured you. A mistake. An error that cost us the world._

_My father would sing to me as a child. Soft songs of hope and love. His voice forever stilled when your brutish ancestors took up axe and club. Later turned our own works against us. We might have known what was to come - and averted it - had you not dragged us into war._

_This is your fault._

Desmond was watching the blond as Clay reread the email, his lips pursed into a thin line. Neither of them smiled. Soon Clay straightened himself back up and he sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes.

"Fuck."

Desmond was fully inclined to agree with that statement.

"She definitely has a problem," Clay continued, bringing his hand back down. He looked at Desmond then. "Was she showing you anything last night?"

"Nothing. Well, nothing except more images of how they failed in their mission here. It's the same stuff every time she comes to me." Desmond picked up his coffee, finishing off some more of it so as to distract himself for a minute more so than because he was thirsty. Clay simply stared at him, mulling the man's words over in his head. He frowned again though when Desmond slowly lowered his mug, brows creasing.

"Although… there _was_ something else… last night just before I went to sleep..." Desmond looked at the blond. "She started talking to me… she said something about something being sealed and barring my way… and she told me to find the key again."

He froze then, his mind now working to piece together those cryptic words. The more he thought about them the more he found he understood. He looked at the gate looming ominously in the far distance, separating the bridge from what lay beyond.

"Now it bars your way…" He repeated, his voice a barely audible whisper.

_Of course…_

Clay had taken a step closer, looking even more concerned than he had a few moments ago.

"Desmond?"

Desmond snapped out of it, blinking and staring straight up into blue eyes.

"She was telling me about the gate. What lies beyond it… it's… she said that that was what was going to save everyone before the solar flares hit. They didn't reach it in time…"

"We already know this though. I mean we kind of gathered this for ourselves when we first arrived here," Clay pointed out. Desmond looked back at the computer, choosing not to comment further for the moment as he ran his eyes over Juno's message again.

"I'm thinking maybe you should send off that email. See if she replies back." He managed a faint grin at that. Clay's lips quirked into a light smile, but he remained silent for a while longer. It was clear that Desmond was trying to change the subject a little, no doubt wanting to distract himself from these thoughts as much as possible. Clay could understand that – after all, he'd had to do something similar back when he was in Abstergo fighting off the Bleeding Effect on a regular basis.

He watched as Desmond then reached out and shut down the monitor, the man clearly not wanting to look at that email any longer than necessary. He'd then turned around, looking at Clay again.

"Shaun thinks we're being purposely goaded into heading off to Cairo to get that last artefact. It's likely a trap."

Clay nodded.

"What else would it be? This is Abstergo we're talking about. Vidic isn't going to give up that easily."

"Be that as it may… I just hope that I can get that key's location before we head out there," Desmond sighed. "I never thought I'd say this but I actually can't wait to get back into the animus again. The sooner the others can run all the diagnostics they need so we can continue, the better."

The best Clay could offer in response to such a statement as that was a mere smile – pained as it was.

And then Desmond had walked off, forcing another smile on his lips as he left, no doubt intending to find the others to ask about this very thing.

As Clay stood there, watching Desmond walk away, his lips pursed into a thin line once more. He thought over what it was Desmond had just said, about Juno and her cryptic messages to him. He was also thinking about what had happened last night, when Desmond had retired early and had gone to sleep.

He hadn't told Desmond the reason for why he'd stayed up all night, only managing to get some semblance of rest this morning until he'd woken up just a short while ago to send him some emails to check up on him. He'd been reluctant to head out here at first, his mind still swimming in a haze of regret and doubt. Regret and doubt caused by what had happened during the night.

He'd known that Desmond had been having nightmares again. It was impossible to _not_ have known. Especially when he'd reached out halfway through the night and had all but clasped his hand tightly around Clay's own – waking him up by crying out and babbling his desire to be left alone by Juno the more she fed apocalyptic images into his already fragile mind.

Clay's first reaction was to freeze, to try and pull Desmond's hand away (considering their talk after what had happened in Brazil the previous night still burned brightly in his head), but he found he couldn't. Desmond had begged him to stay.

He'd known that Desmond was locked in his nightmare world and he wasn't conscious for it… it wasn't technically _him_ saying it… but at the same time he couldn't have left him like that. So he stayed. Desmond would relax a little then, knowing that he had something solid to hold onto, to clasp his hand around as that hand clasped back, Clay having no choice but to lie there and gently stroke his thumb over the back of Desmond's hand, watching as the man writhed and whimpered… and then grew into a relaxed slumber the more he was whispered to, the more he was told by Clay that he would be alright – he just had to pull himself out of it. It was heartbreaking to witness, and if he could make Desmond feel better even at least for a second… it would be enough for him.

And then he'd fallen back asleep.

Just like that.

As if nothing had happened.

And Clay would feel conflicted, knowing that he should be doing his best to try and stop these visions… but he also knew that even if he could, it wouldn't work. Desmond was going through _exactly_ what he'd gone through. There was no way to stop it.

So he was left to act out his role of mediator, to try and help Desmond to the best of his ability. The only good thing was that at least the man seemed to have no memory of those nights when he woke up. Still though, Clay had to admit that in a way he envied Desmond – not for the visions, but for the help that he himself was providing the younger man. When he'd been in Abstergo for that year and a half, he had received no help whatsoever – unless the daily doses of paliperidone prescribed to him by a company doctor counted.

Clay often imagined what it would have been like to just wake up from a nightmare and see someone there besides Vidic or Lucy telling him to get back in the animus or simply "try to focus". Someone just standing there and _helping_ him, sharing in his grief and telling him it would be ok, that they understood exactly what it was he was going through…

Because this was what he told Desmond every night, and it seemed to be working. He'd give himself a pat on the back, but for now Clay found peace with the knowledge that he was helping someone else for once, and ensuring that something like this didn't happen again – at least for a little while, that was. But Juno was a tougher boss to battle than mere five second visions enlisted by the Bleeding Effect, or nonsensical voices in one's head.

She was in a league all of her own.

He looked back at the computer that Desmond had turned off.

_I might end up sending her that email anyway, just to be on the safe side_ , he mused, a dry smile pulling at his lips.

But for now… he wanted to get some coffee and something to eat. Hopefully that would distract him enough to take his mind off things.

* * *

Rebecca had confirmed that thanks to the second power source the temple would continue to provide enough energy for them to last another eleven days or so, and Shaun had likewise reiterated that Cairo was looking to be their best bet currently in finding another one.

"I'll see about booking some flights," Rebecca had told the others when they had been pulled into a group meeting just before dinner one evening. This was the other night, and that had been the last time Desmond had heard anything about the subject. He couldn't afford to worry about it though, as busy with the animus as he was.

He was progressing further with Connor's memories - through the sessions over the past three days he had learnt of Washington's betrayal of the Mohawk clans, yet Connor was still willing to remain loyal to the patriot armies and the colonists who desperately wished for change and a severance of any ties to the Crown. Haytham and Charles Lee were all that remained standing between him and the artefact.

Desmond surmised that if he kept up these sessions as vigorously as he could given the three hour slots he was provided with, he would finally have a location pinpointed before they would even need to head out to Cairo. So now he sat back, hooked up and ready to go. It had been a week since they'd returned from Brazil, and that only left them with two more days until they were due to fly out once more. Rebecca had secured their tickets this morning, and as Desmond resumed following Connor in preparations with Lafayette to stop the Redcoats from marching on Monmouth, he felt that he had now finally – at last – come to a sense of closure concerning the amulet's whereabouts.

Charles Lee had it. It was so obvious now. Haytham had proved time and time again that he was no longer in possession of it… which only confirmed that he had at some point in his life passed it on to his second in command. Connor, however, was proving difficult. Seeing as he had no desire to seek the amulet at this point in his memories, Desmond was constantly risking desynchronization by trying to push his Native ancestor just that little bit further… just extend his reach that little bit more in the hopes that he could somehow skip ahead past these irrelevant sequences and finally, at last, search solely for the key and the key alone.

Rebecca had told him the previous afternoon that she was looking into the possibility of creating a system patch to see if she could do just that – allow the animus to give Desmond the option of skipping through memories at will – and Clay had even stepped in to offer his programming skills alongside her own to see if he could help in any way he could… but it was not enough. No matter how experienced they were or how quickly they worked, they wouldn't be able to do this without pulling apart the animus mainframe entirely and starting over completely from scratch, rewriting every code and algorithm the machine was capable of processing. And that was time that they didn't have.

So Desmond tried to keep himself together – both himself and everyone else by calmly entering the animus and continuing from where he left off. When he was pulled out a few hours later by Rebecca, he sighed heavily and shook his head, waiting for the visions of those unreachable phantoms from the past to fade slowly from his sight – Lafayette and Connor seeming to shimmer into nothing.

He felt a hand come to rest on his shoulder and he gave Clay a small smile, looking up at the blond.

"I'm all good," he replied, clasping his hand firmly over Clay's for a minute without giving it any thought. For a moment there was a brief look of shock bordering on uncertainty which entered the man's blue eyes at that, but it had faded as quickly as it had come. Desmond pushed it aside in favour of standing up from the animus and stretching, turning to look at the others. "I'm close. I can feel it – just a couple more sessions and I think I'll have it."

"That's wonderful news," Shaun spoke up, not even looking up from his computer. "In fact the timing couldn't be any better. Desmond, you're on surveillance tonight."

Desmond rolled his eyes. They'd continued with the daily rounds of recon outside the temple grounds since coming back from Brazil, too. They'd swapped over, Shaun and Desmond now being the two on the roster to head out there at dawn and dusk to ensure that Abstergo still hadn't found them.

"Make sure you take your sunscreen with you." At that added comment from Shaun, Desmond found he was trying increasingly hard to not roll his eyes again. But unfortunately he could see the merit in the man's words, seeing as just over the past three days alone numerous cities around the world had recorded record-breaking highs in temperature… and both meteorology and international space stations alike around the globe all confirmed the one thing which neither Desmond nor the others wished to hear right now on top of everything else.

The sun was sending off flares, and some of them were already reaching the Earth.

And the best part was that they were only gaining more strength by the day.

"Let me get something to eat first," Desmond muttered, grabbing a slice of pizza that Shaun had gone out to buy a short while ago. It was almost cold, but it didn't matter – Desmond wolfing it down like a man starved. His stomach growled in appreciation of the melted cheese and pepperoni, and he was very sorely tempted to take the whole box and eat every last crumb of it. Unfortunately he wasn't offered the liberty of eating how much he wanted however, seeing as no one else had had anything to eat yet either.

"Have I got any emails yet?" Desmond asked quietly, turning to face Clay as he continued chewing away at his food. He'd asked the blond to keep a check on the messages he received today, seeing as Juno was growing more persistent now that she had established another form of contact with him. Clay looked at him, his expression unreadable as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yep."

Desmond cussed sharply under his breath.

"Great… what'd she say?" He really didn't want to know, but it was better to deal with this sooner than later. Clay watched him for a minute before he responded, as if he was debating with himself whether to tell him or not.

"You sure you don't want to read it when you come back…?"

"Clay…"

The man sighed.

"Alright, fine. Look." He motioned Desmond over to the computers, logging into Desmond's email and stepping back to allow him to have a look for himself. Desmond scrolled his eyes over the lines of text, and his mood steadily worsened the more he read. When he'd finished, he felt he began to understand why Clay was so reluctant to show him this at first.

_The ones you name Minerva and Tinia. They called you here. And then they left. Don't you find it odd? That they would go through all the trouble and then just disappear..._

_There were discs here, once. I threw them into the abyss when I still could. I think they were meant for you. Filled with lies. You don't need such things. I alone will guide you. You don't trust me. I am the enemy. I bade you kill the traitor. But if you hadn't - you would have died. And the world as well._

_I hate you. But you will save us. So I offer my hand. I will lead you to salvation._

A slow exhale of breath left his lips, Desmond gazing at the email for a moment longer until he finally found his voice again.

"What are the discs she's talking about?"

Clay shook his head.

"I don't know."

"Have you told the others about this?"

Clay again shook his head. Desmond stepped back from the computer.

"Great, thanks. I'm just…" He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I'm just going to go outside and do my recon." He made to move away, but he was stopped by Clay.

"You want me to do it for you?"

It was Desmond's turn to shake his head this time.

"Nah, I'm fine. I mean it. Thanks though. Just need to forget about this as much as possible, that's all." He waved the blond off and he shoved his hands violently into his hoodie pockets as he hunched his shoulders, eyes focused and lips pressed thinly together as he made his way to the outside, not even caring how quickly he jogged up the steep dirt mound of the tunnel to reach the cave exit.

As soon as he ducked under the half-raised wall separating the back of the cave from the temple entrance, he couldn't help but double over and pant heavily, sucking the fresh air into his lungs with vigour. He felt his mood lighten considerably (he thought it had to do with the fact that he was finally outside again), and he straightened himself up a moment so he could take stock and walk out into the clearing the cave was in the centre of. The cool evening wind gusted through the trees, their boughs creaking and swaying in rhythmic movements in the dusk air. The first glimmers of stars could be seen high above, and the call of birds from far away was almost like music to Desmond's ears.

Unfortunately though, he didn't have time for sight-seeing. He knew Shaun would be on his ass about taking his time out here, and not to mention it would no doubt get his dad involved too. But he would be damned if he stood out here for half an hour using a tiny little camera to look around with. He closed his eyes, relaxing his senses and slipping effortlessly into his second sight which he'd steadily been perfecting over the course of the past few months, his Eagle Vision now almost feeling as natural to him as seeing the world normally. The dappled whites and muted greys of the outside world rose to meet him, and he focused sharply on his surroundings, glancing this way and that for any sign that anyone had been out here recently since his last check the previous night.

So far, so good. It all looked the same. He strode further out to the clearing, walking around the perimeter whilst keeping his eyes peeled, barely even blinking for fear that he might miss something should he do so.

As he walked, he tried to mull over Juno's emails in his head. There was no logic to them, just as there was no logic to her constant visions. Or if there _was_ some kind of logic, it was a weird, fucked up kind of logic which was completely beyond him. She always seemed to contradict herself – one minute she would be talking about salvation, then her personal heartbreak… and then the very next she would yell, scream at him and call him the scourge of the Earth – him and all of humanity.

" _I'm tired of it… the cryptic warnings, the threats… just TELL US WHAT YOU WANT!"_ He'd yelled himself hoarse at her the other night screaming that, when she'd once more invaded his head, spinning her tales of deceit. It was getting to the point where he just assumed that her sole purpose in whatever half-life she had was to make him crazy.

After all, he might have better luck understanding her then.

He'd been circling a tree at this point, too lost in his thoughts to even bother with where he was going or what he was doing. He was so enthralled he didn't notice it at first, but when he saw the faint shimmers of red dance across his sight he blinked himself out of it, lifting his head and focusing sharply on the patterns swirling before him like they were caught in a ghostly mist.

His heart seemed to stop in his chest, and his stomach sank.

Footprints.

Glowing a bright, vibrant red – bordering on crimson. They were leading away from this side of the clearing. He spurred into action, following them as he crouched down lest he be spotted by whoever it was that had been circling the area. How hadn't he noticed this before?!

As he moved his mind was swimming, all prior frustration now replaced solely with blinding panic. Someone was here. And what's more… it wasn't someone who meant them well. His first guess was the most likely.

Abstergo.

They'd found the temple. He bit his lip, ducking and racing over logs and broken twigs, pushing past tree branches and making sure to not cut himself in the process. The trail led further and further away from the cave, veering off into the pastures beyond. That was when he paused, catching his breath and straining his eyes to see any further sight of those markings over the darkening horizon, the sun disappearing under a low cloud cover which blanketed the sky in a thick, mottled grey. The air had grown cooler, the wind picking up and sending chills through Desmond's spine as he stood there, glancing this way and that.

The trail had disappeared into seemingly nothing.

It started to rain.

He blinked, shaking his head to try and clear the blurriness in his vision as a few stray drops hit him in the face, and he pulled his hood firmly down over his eyes. Blinking the last of the rain away he glanced up again, hoping to see if some sight of the footprints still remained. The trail had faded, the rain scattering the marks of the footprints as they dissolved into the mud they had been trudged through, and he bit back a groan of frustration when sure enough the markings soon disappeared altogether.

He relaxed, waiting as calmly as he could for his second sight to fade, the world around him seeming to have been injected with a sudden violent rush of colour as he glanced around with his own eyes once more. He walked forwards, crouching down and studying the last few tracks visible to him in the mud before his feet, the rain soaking through his clothes and leaving him uncomfortably damp. He didn't care at that minute though, instead focusing solely on the boot imprints in the slush before him.

He then stood up, turning around and sprinting back towards the cave entrance, eager to both get out of the rain and also to tell everyone the bad news.

By the time he'd raced down into the temple below, he was panting so harshly for breath that everyone looked up at him with wide, startled eyes.

"Desmond? What's wrong?" Rebecca called out as she approached.

"Son, why are you wet? Is it raining out there?" William added, looking none too impressed. Clay and Shaun remained silent, though by the look on Clay's face when Desmond finally managed to lift his head and lock eyes on him – it was clear that the blond had already guessed what had happened.

"Someone's been out there…" Desmond managed to gasp out in-between gulps of air. "I saw… saw tracks… leading away… from the clearing… into the farmland. Red. They were… all red…"

Shaun promptly dropped what he was doing and shot up from his seat, Rebecca looking just as fearful as the Brit as she dived for her computer and pulled up her video feed. William looked like he had frozen, and Clay simply stood there – a bitter smile on his lips.

"That's gotta be impossible," Rebecca was saying, panic making her voice sound shaken, "I've been watching the cameras every single day this past week and I've seen nothing!"

"Clearly you missed something," Shaun reprimanded her – though for how sharp his tone was he was clearly just as stricken as the rest of them. They crowded around Rebecca's computer, watching the screen as she clicked away here and there and showed them the week's recordings side by side on the monitor.

"See? Nothing here!" She announced, lifting her head to gaze at everyone in turn.

"Maybe it wasn't from this week…"

They turned their heads then, everyone looking at Desmond. He leant down, watching the screen closely. Rebecca was right – nothing out of the ordinary here. Which could only mean one thing.

"It was either before or during the time we were in Brazil."

Rebecca paused, glancing up at Desmond. Then she switched the recordings, hastily bringing up the tapes that she'd set up during the two days that they had left the temple. They watched them, still finding nothing out of the ordinary.

"Nope. Everything's fine," she sighed. Desmond stepped back, his brows knotting together as he tried to think of a different solution. He had to admit, he was personally relieved to see that he was wrong. But when _had_ Abstergo shown up? There was no way in hell he could have mistaken what he'd seen out there. Absolutely no way at all.

"Go back to Sunday's video feed for a second," Clay spoke up suddenly – the man leaning over the computer by Rebecca's side as she brought up the requested feed. Desmond watched him, blinking in surprise. Had he seen something they hadn't? He exchanged glances with the rest – everyone seeming to be just as surprised by this as Desmond was. Clay paid them no mind, focusing his attention solely on the screen.

When the feed loosed a brief flash of static for a split second, he pointed at the monitor and stood back.

"There. Right there."

Rebecca paused the video, glancing up at him as did everyone else.

"That was just stati—"

"EMI," Clay announced firmly, cutting Shaun off. "I'd know it anywhere."

Rebecca's eyes widened, and she whipped her head back around to the feed, replaying that short split second of footage. It was so faint and was so quick to pass by that it was easy to miss at first; only a well-trained eye could have spotted it. Her mouth seemed to drop, and the colour all but drained from her face.

"Holy shit…" She breathed. Clay nodded grimly.

"Wait, hold up a moment… what's EMI?" Shaun asked, looking just as confused as Desmond and William did.

"Electromagnetic interference," Clay explained. "They jammed the cameras with a frequency high enough to cut them out and stop having them record for all the time that they needed. Then when they were all done they lowered the frequency and the cameras kicked up again. That's what that static was. They were here three days ago."

"How do you know all this?" William asked, fixing Clay with an odd look in his eyes. Clay faltered for the briefest of moments, slowly lifting his eyes to lock onto William's own.

"I did a programming course in college," he explained, his voice giving nothing away. William continued to look at him and Desmond took a step closer, aiming to drag Clay away if things got out of hand.

"He's right," Rebecca announced, sitting back in her seat and fixing her eyes on her screen. She looked like she was about to be sick. "They fucked with the cameras… right in front of us… I never knew…" She closed her eyes, rubbing a hand over them and taking a deep breath.

"Hey, don't take it too badly, Rebecca," Desmond murmured quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. "None of us could have known at first. Besides, they don't know I have Eagle Vision. They were probably betting on us not finding out about this at all. But we _have_ , and that's all that matters."

She nodded, still not lifting her head up. Desmond clapped her shoulder and then straightened up.

"We have two days until we head over to Cairo. Let's put all our effort into redoubling our perimeter borders and setting up surveillance. Mark – you apparently have an eye for these kinds of things. Instead of helping to monitor Desmond's progress in the animus I want you on surveillance," William announced. Clay nodded, though he didn't look overly pleased by this.

"What about me?" Rebecca asked quietly.

"Keep the cameras up and running but worry solely on Desmond's session feeds and vitals."

Rebecca looked too tired at this point to even argue – simply nodding again.

"Shaun have you gotten into contact with any of the other teams out there?"

Shaun looked up when he was called out and he focused his eyes on the older assassin.

"I have," he replied. "Nothing on their ends to indicate any major move by Abstergo."

William turned around, heading over to grab his iPad.

"Get on it – tell them the situation and that we have a possible breach over here. We need to keep every team safe and the more we all know about this, the better."

Shaun turned around, sitting down at his chair and immediately bringing up his email, tapping away at the keys as he quickly went about doing as asked. Desmond looked at them all, sighing and bowing his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Son I know this is a difficult time for us, so how about you get some rest and we'll go through the last of those memories tomorrow?"

That drew his attention, Desmond fixing an almost incredulous stare on his father. Clay had even stopped to gaze with his jaw dropped at the older man too, and Shaun and Rebecca had noticeably paused in their work. William seemed to notice this too and he frowned – one glare at the others making them bow their heads and return to their duties. He cleared his throat, patting Desmond on the shoulder and striding past him, bidding him a curt good night and resuming checking his iPad as he sat himself down near the animus.

As he watched his father walk off, Desmond found that there was no word in any language that he could think of that could accurately describe the shock and confusion that he was feeling in that very second. So he instead settled on chancing a sidewards glance at Clay, seeing the blond looking back at him with a look on his face which seemed to perfectly mirror Desmond's own.

"I'll uh… take him up on that offer," Desmond blinked, shrugging as he took his leave, preparing to grab himself a shower and a change of clothes seeing as his were still thoroughly soaked by the rain outside. No one offered any complaints otherwise, and that was fine by him. He didn't know what had prompted his father's sudden change of mood considering the severity of the current situation at hand, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

As he showered and prepared for an early night his mind was filled with the prospects of Abstergo having finally caught up to them. Of course he couldn't be certain that it _was_ Abstergo… but given that they were their greatest enemy and the only people he had known to glow red when using his Eagle Vision were Vidic and the rest of the agents at the company, he had no reason to believe it was anyone else but them.

Now the big issue here was… what had they discovered about the temple? Or were they here sheerly by pure coincidence and dumb luck? Or had Cross somehow tracked them down?

There were many possibilities, and none of them pleasant. Desmond only hoped that the trip to Cairo would go by relatively unimpeded. All they needed was that last power source and then he'd have exactly a week left to find the key. He knew he would locate it before then – he was so close already. But whether or not the world could wait for that long, he _didn't_ know. The solar flares were getting worse, after all.

Ten minutes later saw him lying on his back on his makeshift bed, gazing up at the ceiling with unblinking eyes. His hands were wringing together nervously from where they rested over his chest. Clay remained busy out there with the others, so that also afforded some thinking space for himself.

The minutes crept by yet Desmond was paying no mind – lost in his own thoughts as he was. It must have been perhaps an hour or more until he felt his eyes start to slip closed seemingly of their own accord, but what stopped him was a low whisper – directly by his ears.

" _What is a fact? Is it fixed? Immutable? Certain in its existence, and only awaiting discovery?"_

His body tensed, and as his eyes snapped open he saw her – flowing white gown, ivory skin, ebony hair and those cold, piercing eyes…

And he was locked in place, paralysed and unable to move, unable to _think_ as Juno approached – her presence seeming to magnify and grow in the space of that small room until she towered before him. Her pale lips parted, and her voice filtered through his ears, thundering within his brain.

" _Or might it be changed? Here we learnt the answer, and thought that it might save us."_

In her hand, she held an Apple. And as Desmond watched helplessly onwards, he saw it passed to Tinia – who raised it high above his head and commanded the army of powerless humans rising to do his bidding.

" _They were used to command. To control. To own. But we soon discovered another use… when enough sat enthralled and were told to believe – their thoughts took on form. What was imagined became real. If a hundred minds could wish a way a wall, or create a tree – what might a thousand do? Ten thousand? More?"_ Juno's voice had raised, and she stepped closer to him, an insatiable eagerness kindling within her dead eyes. Desmond felt the air become sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

" _Might we change the consensus, and will the threat away? We resolved to send one into the sky where it might illuminate us all. Once placed, a sentence would be uttered…"_ Juno paused then, her head tilting upwards, and Desmond saw now that the Earth was above him, lit up by one singular bright star gravitating around the withering planet. He knew that star to be the Apple. Juno's voice had lowered to a soft whisper, barely audible – yet still crashing relentlessly upon Desmond's ears like the waves against a shoreline.

" _Make us safe…"_ She looked at him, and Desmond felt as if her eyes went straight through him. _"In this way we would change the consensus. We would save the world. But it never came to be. We sent a dozen of them skyward, but there was no way to maintain control, to direct the beam, to enthral the world… to speak the words. Though this was strange, and dangerous… what we tried next was worse."_

He tried to shake his head, to spur words from his dry lips, but his voice refused to co-operate. He wanted it to stop. He could feel the sweat beading down his face.

"S-stop it…" He couldn't hear himself. He may as well have not been talking at all. Juno continued.

" _Our first instinct was to travel back, to change the past. But we could not find a way. But forward… we_ could _look forward, and so here we sought to see beyond ourselves and know what was to come. First we wanted to learn if our work would succeed… but the answer was always the same. So we moved onto other things, but_ she _remained…"_ She extended her finger then, pointing at him as her lips curled into a venomous snarl. And suddenly she looked like a monster, her dead eyes blazing with an unbridled fury – a fury left to simmer for centuries upon centuries, turning hatred into its most pure, loathsome form.

" _The one you call Minerva."_

"Stop… please…" Desmond was panting, trying to escape, trying to _flee_ … it was useless. She had him captured, cornered up against a wall with no hope of freedom. Juno refused to take notice, her pale lips downcast and unsmiling.

" _In time, she too stopped looking and instead began to speak. She called out across time in the hopes that you might be saved. She hid messages where none might find them, save for you and those within this place."_

Then she disappeared.

Desmond was left lying there in shock, eyes darting this way and that to try and find her, to see where she'd gone off to. She wasn't there; she'd simply faded away into nothing. He didn't trust her though – he _knew_ she was still here, he could _feel_ her eyes on him… boring into his mind and forcing him to see what she wanted him to see.

He blinked, and then he found he was looking directly into two corpse-like eyes. He would have cried out then, scrambled back and kicked her away – done _something_ – but he couldn't. His body was frozen into place, and the grip she had on his arm was strong. Like iron, her fingers clamped down and he grit his teeth against the pain, even as she leant in and whispered into his ear, his brain aching within his very skull.

" _You started this course of destruction, Desmond Miles. You and all your ancestors. I loathe you."_

A cold chill coursed through his veins, but it wasn't because of her words… it was how she had said them. She gave away no frustration, no anger in her tone; she was just stating a simple fact. And that terrified him.

It terrified him because he knew from the look in her eyes and the hostility of her gaze that she would kill him, should she be given the chance. Her grip tightened on his arm.

" _But, I am not unkind. Your friend, the one called Clay Kaczmarek… he seeks to disrupt you from the path. I alone will guide you to salvation. He played his part, many months ago. He serves no more use now. Trust in me, and I will show you the world saved."_

She let him go, but the searing pain of her iron-like grip upon his arm remained even as he opened his eyes and gasped heavily for air.

* * *

The first thing he noticed upon waking up was the darkness of the room around him – it seemed to burn his eyes, to blind his retinas. The second was that he was drenched in a cold sweat, and a myriad of emotions were playing over his brain – most of them anger. She had tried to turn Clay against him… or was it him against Clay? He couldn't remember.

But what he _did_ remember was that she was wrong. He didn't know what Juno was hoping to achieve by saying such things, by attempting to poison his mind against his best friend like that – but he _did_ know that she would have to try a lot harder than that if she was so eager to succeed. He waited for his breathing to return to normal, and he lifted his free hand up to wipe the sweat away from his brow.

The last thing he noticed was the reason for why he couldn't move his right hand. He felt something warm in his grasp, and as he finally regained his sight and turned his head to the side, he saw Clay sitting there beside him, hand over his. Brown eyes met blue, and it was clear by the pain in Clay's gaze that the blond had fully guessed what had just happened… either guessed or had seen, in some way.

"Hey…" He mumbled, his voice sounding dry to Desmond's ears. Desmond didn't respond at first, instead looking back down at the man's hand. He was just about to speak up, to tell him to let go when he realised whose hand was holding whose.

Strangely enough, instead of pushing away or scrambling backwards, Desmond found he simply didn't care. He looked back up at the blond.

"What's this?" He managed a weak smile, lifting Clay's hand a little, indicating their interlaced fingers. Clay seemed to consider the question for a minute, a brow arching.

"Well it's a funny story, Miles," he began, trying to lighten his tone. "I came in here a few minutes ago to get some sleep when someone reached out and grabbed my hand the second I walked past them. I tried to pry myself free, but apparently according to the distressed guy in front of me he was having none of that. The best I could do was sit down and hope that if I didn't move my hand too much he might let go after a minute. That was…" He looked down at his watch. "Ten minutes ago. I'm still waiting."

"Ha ha," Desmond muttered drily, though he didn't drop his hand from Clay's – and by the look on the man's face he was only being half serious when he implied he wanted his hand back. Rather he looked down at their fingers again, his hand held tightly around Clay's own, the blond idly stroking his thumb along the back of Desmond's. It was an odd, comforting motion, and Desmond fell silent as he watched for a minute, feeling his heart rate slowly return back to normal, and his anxiety slowly edge away. He gave his hand a light squeeze of gratitude, and the faintest hint of a smile twitched at the corners of Clay's lips.

"Juno again?" He asked quietly, though it was clear by the tone of his voice that he already knew. Desmond sighed, nodding and closing his eyes.

"Yeah."

"… I think I can guess."

Desmond managed a dry chuckle and he tilted his head back against his hoodie which he'd taken off before bed and had placed under his head to act as a pillow.

"Oh you might be pleasantly surprised this time. It was the usual apocalyptic shit on top of a lesson in how to fail to control your subjects by placing an Apple on a satellite." He looked over at Clay then. "Sound familiar?"

Clay scoffed faintly, not bothering to give Desmond a worded response. Instead he continued to sit there, looking at the younger man as he waited for him to continue. Despite himself Desmond couldn't help but continue to feel thankful for the hold he was maintaining on the blond's hand – after all it _was_ helping to relax him. He found he could focus more.

He held Clay's gaze, his hand tightening around Clay's own. He felt the anxiety slowly come inching back, creeping through his chest and nestling its firm, snug hold around his heart.

"She also told me something interesting… something about you."

Clay visibly tensed, the man's posture seeming to tighten as he straightened himself just that little bit more upon the edge of the rock he was sitting on.

"What did she say?" Desmond could never recall the man's voice having sounded so quiet. His smile grew bitter upon his scarred lips.

"You're going to be dragging me away from the path, Clay," he murmured. "She's scared of you. I don't know what you did but you succeeded. She wants me to trust in her… only she can show me the way…" he tilted his head back against the pillow and chuckled drily. Clay meanwhile could only manage a faint grin at best, though his eyes carried a hard look to them as he firmly laced his fingers through Desmond's own, unaware at first that he'd done so in the first place.

"Well I've threatened her on more than one occasion. I'm glad she's starting to take note."

Desmond found he couldn't argue with that.

"Whatever you did, it's working. She really hit an all-time low."

There was a heavy silence, thick and asphyxiating. Desmond's mind was wandering, his brain trying to work to blot out the memories, the visions of that nightmare from his mind. It was getting to the point that the one thing he associated Juno with now was a nightmare in and of itself – in its purest, darkest form.

And the more he thought about it, the more he felt himself break.

"When will it stop?"

Clay's eyes narrowed faintly, the man leaning forwards a little as he carefully eyed his friend. Desmond's eyes were closed, but the despair was heavy in his voice.

"She keeps telling me to find the key… keeps sending me these visions, these… these emails… I… it's getting to the point where I don't know what to do..." Desmond opened his eyes, staring straight at the ceiling. His hand was painfully tight around Clay's now, but the blond couldn't care less in that moment. "I don't know how much more I can take of this…"

"Hey…" Clay chose that moment to interrupt, his voice stern as his eyes narrowed further. "Don't bring yourself down to my level. That kind of thinking led me to taking the easy way out. You have to stick through this, Desmond."

Desmond snorted something that could have been a laugh.

"Oh really? Just like that? How the _fuck_ am I meant to do that, Clay?" He swivelled his gaze coolly onto the blond beside him. The look in his eyes softened almost immediately. "She's going to _make_ me take the easy way out."

Clay found he didn't have a proper response for that, having long since guessed that this would be the outcome. He sighed.

"Maybe… but not if I can help it," he muttered. He forced a smile to his lips. "You know despite everything you really _are_ a lucky bastard, Miles… at least you _have_ help. You have your father, you have Shaun and Rebecca… and you have me. Now I've been through this before, you _know_ I have. You want to know what I had then to help me? Nothing. I was on my own. But _you_ Desmond… you're not alone. And that's not going to change."

Desmond was at a loss for words, but after a moment his lips began to move. He sounded quiet when he spoke, as if his voice was strained.

"I don't deserve it. I killed her, you know… I killed… Lucy…"

Clay tightened his hold on his hand.

"Desmond—"

"I saw what she was. What would happen if I let her live. I could have stopped myself, I mean there was a force there… but I didn't have to. I _chose_ to..."

Clay froze, Desmond's words ringing in his skull and seeming to pound viciously through his ears. He found his throat tightening but he didn't know why.

"Desmond, you shouldn't—"

"Lucy was going to betray us and take the Apple back to Abstergo. I saw the satellite launched, I saw them turn it on and then… it failed."

That caught Clay's attention, his eyes slowly widening. Desmond smiled grimly, tilting his head back now to look up at the ceiling again.

"Their plan wasn't going to work. Lucy needn't have died. But I still killed her. Why did I do it? I can't tell the others this. I can't tell _anyone_ this… but here I am, saying this to you right now. Why? I don't fucking know. Isn't that funny? Sitting down here holding your fucking _hand_ for Christ's sake and giving you the life story you never asked for. She fucked us over, Clay. She fucked us over real good. Lucy and Juno both." He laughed then – a strange, off-kilter noise which didn't sound right coming from his lips. Clay's smile grew grim – he recognised it well. It was the laughter of someone who was on the edge, ready to fall. Just like he had the moment he picked up that pen and stabbed it into his wrist.

Desmond sucked in a sharp breath, lifting his free hand up to rub at his eyes, his chest rising and falling as he tried to control his breathing. At last he managed to continue, his words stronger now than they had been a moment previously.

"Whatever's on the other side of that door, it benefits Juno. We _need_ to be careful."

His hold around Clay's hand was now so tight Clay could no longer feel the lower half of his arm. But Desmond had apparently calmed down enough now to stop talking, and taking advantage of his silence, Clay continued.

"That's a given. But Desmond… I need you to focus, alright? Sure, you killed Lucy. And you know what? That doesn't change my opinion of you. It sure as hell doesn't change _anyone's_ opinion of you around here. Juno was behind all this. We can agree on that. She's a manipulative bitch, and how do you know that by feeling sorry for yourself right now and breaking down like this you're not falling right into this trap she's set up around you? I know it's hard... it's _so_ incredibly fucking hard to not feel like this but... you just can't, _can't_ let her get into your head like that."

Desmond looked like he was about to protest but Clay wasn't having any of it. He laced his fingers back through Desmond's and gripped the man's hand tightly, trying to make him see reason. There was a deadly serious expression on his face, one that Desmond was sure he hadn't seen before.

"Can we stop Juno? Probably not. But we can make her uncomfortable enough to slip up – make her reveal what she really has in store for all of us. Because it's not just you she's onto, is it? She mentioned me by name apparently according to you, and the last time she spoke to me she told me to kill myself so I could help your sorry ass. I know from experience that listening to her doesn't bode well for anybody, _especially_ the person she asks favours of – but you live and you learn I suppose. Well… Clay didn't, but I'm the next best thing."

Desmond remained silent, simply studying the blond's face. Clay noticed this, slowly feeling uncomfortable by how long the man was looking at him without blinking, and he was just about to open his mouth to ask if he was ok when he saw Desmond's lips move.

"Would the real Clay have done all this?"

That question took the blond completely by surprise.

"What do you mean?"

Desmond's lips twitched into something reminiscent of a smile, though it was bitter and solemn. "Would he have said all those things you said just then? Done everything you've been doing to help me so far?"

"Well, I—"

"Because I've noticed something. As far as I'm concerned, you're him. You're Clay. You said it yourself, didn't you? You might just be a construct, but everything he's been, everything he's thought and felt… it's all you. So why do you go ahead and separate yourself from him? You say something and then you go on like you're completely different people."

Clay's mind met a momentary blank. Seeing he was onto something here, Desmond's smile grew – though it was still bitter.

"So what I want to know, Clay, is if everything you've said so far is something that _he_ would say… or just you. Because this right here shows me that no matter how much I may think you're the real deal, you're saying you're not. Not at all."

Clay's mouth went dry, and as he gazed steadily into Desmond's eyes he was under the distinct impression that the man knew more about him that he perhaps knew about himself. It unsettled him… but it also provided some strange sense of relief. His words echoed in his brain, and he was left feeling an odd sense of emptiness. He felt… hollow. Unsure.

"To be honest…" He looked away, down at their joined hands. He bit his lip. "I don't know, Desmond. I've asked myself this, actually… a couple of times…" He chuckled, sighing and shaking his head. "Would I... _he_ have gone out of his way to do this? When he went insane, yes. Definitely. I mean Juno told him that you were the chosen one after all and the only part he had to play was to make sure he passed those messages onto you."

He paused, lifting his head now and gazing at the opposite wall, at the faint glowing markings etched into their onyx surface.

"But now I… I'm not sure. He spent so much time trying to prove himself, trying to show people he was worth something that he never focused on what it was that other people wanted. Every relationship he had had failed because of it… he had very few friends… he was the very definition of 'loner'. But…" here his smile grew a little, and a fond look entered his eyes. "That changed when he joined the Brotherhood. Things started looking up for him then… he started to help people more."

He looked back down at Desmond, who was watching him with rapt attention. Clay's smile then faltered immediately, and it dropped from his lips, his gaze turning sombre once again.

"When he uploaded his construct into the animus, he'd already broken his leash, Desmond. He was too far gone at that point. The only thing that was keeping him alive was the need to help you. Just some random guy he'd never met but knew was going to save the world one way or another simply because Juno said he would. Maybe that's why we're different… I mean sure I _am_ the guy, I'm everything he ever was and ever will be but the one thing that sticks out for me right now... is that I was created from those thoughts, those feelings that were going through his head at the time. You know, those... apocalyptic destructive thoughts and just the hope that you'd actually find all the glyphs he'd left behind. So maybe that's… that's why I'm helping you. I _need_ to help you. And maybe that's why we _are_ different. Would he have helped you like I'm helping you right now? I wanted to think that yes, he would. But…" He bit his lip, closing his eyes.

"Now I know I was wrong. He wouldn't have. Not if he was in his right frame of mind."

Desmond nodded, now having heard what he'd needed to hear.

"Thank you."

Clay blinked, fixing him a wary look.

"For what?"

Desmond's lips twitched upwards.

"For making sense."

Clay froze, Desmond echoing those very same words that Clay himself had said to him back on the Island at one stage. He could see the amusement kindle deep within Desmond's gaze, and before long he found himself rolling his eyes, muttering something scathing under his breath to the brunet – which only made Desmond chuckle in response.

"No, I mean it," he then spoke up, still smiling as he looked at the blond. "All the help you're giving me… I really appreciate it."

Clay shrugged.

"Just doing my job. What, you wanna give me a medal for it or something?"

"Maybe."

Clay chuckled then, sighing softly and rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

"Mind giving me my hand back now?"

Desmond gave a quiet laugh and dropped his hand from Clay's, much to the blond's relief as he brought it up and flexed his fingers so he could get some circulation back. He was just about to lift his head again to teasingly berate the man for how long he'd been hogging his hand away from him when he stopped, noticing that Desmond's features had grown lax and he appeared to have just fallen asleep. He arched an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything.

Instead he laid down on his back, looking up at the ceiling and sighing softly as he tried to calm the torrent of thoughts whirling through his brain, wreaking havoc on his mind like a tornado cutting across the earth.

He felt… empty.

The last thing he'd expected from Desmond was him asking those questions that he had. His mind was swimming, plunging down into the depths of doubt and uncertainty.

" _Would the real Clay have done all this?"_

He buried his face in his hands.

He'd told Desmond the truth, but that wasn't the issue that was bothering him. What _was_ bothering him, was how startlingly different he'd managed to become. He _was_ Clay, he knew that. But so far everything he'd done, everything he'd said… that wasn't Clay. He felt like an impostor trapped in his own body, where even his own body wasn't his. It was Mark's body. Clay's thoughts, Clay's construct, Mark's body.

For a brief moment he thought that maybe the memories within Mark's head had started to meld with his own, and he was beginning to take on aspects of the man's persona. But the second he had thought those words he'd pushed them aside. Mark Landers was dead.

That was one thing that he hadn't told Desmond. The reason why it had taken him so long to slip himself into the man's brain back in the hospital. He'd died the minute Clay had sent his data through the man's nervous system. It wasn't his fault though. He wasn't the cause of the man's death. He was due to check out at any time – it was even written on Rebecca's file she kept on her computer. All Clay had to do was take momentary control of Desmond's mind – exert a little willpower here and he'd moved Desmond's eyes to where he wanted him to read, avoiding him from scrolling down the rest of the file and catching sight of where it had said that Mark's condition was critical and the doctors were going to pull the plug any day now.

Did he feel bad about it? Yes, he did. But he had resolved to not tell Desmond. After all, he had enough to worry about right now.

But that still left one important question to be answered.

_Who am I?_

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.

" _I'm still Clay Kaczmarek!"_ He remembered saying that to Desmond, what felt like a lifetime ago. He didn't feel so sure about it now. Everything he'd done up until this moment had proved otherwise, after all. _Talk about self-doubt..._

Heaving a heavy sigh he tilted his head, looking back over to the younger man who was still sleeping reasonably peacefully away. Desmond on the other hand…

Well, he believed in him, didn't he? He believed he was Clay. He wasn't like everyone else – he didn't think of him as a number instead of a name. For that, he felt grateful beyond words for.

So if Desmond still thought of him as Clay Kaczmarek…

Then that's who he would remain.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you didn't end up helping _me_ tonight," he muttered under his breath, quietly so as to avoid waking the other man up. So he was rather shocked when Desmond's lips curled into a smile.

"You listen to my problems too much. Figured you needed it. Consider it payback for you kissing me back in Brazil."

Clay froze, soon coming back to his senses and groaning lightly.

"You bastard."

"I know."

He was tempted, so tempted to retort back with something scathing, but he found he couldn't. So Clay sighed, settling on giving Desmond the finger instead as the younger man chuckled. But he didn't mind. As he drifted off some few minutes later, it was the first night that he could remember in a long time where he could sleep without any form of doubt or regret eating away at his brain.

And he had Desmond to thank for that.


	16. Chapter 16

Everyone was on edge after the discovery that Abstergo had been investigating the farmland around them. So far the only relief they were granted was in the knowledge that the clearing a few ways away from the cave entrance was as far as they'd come before they'd headed back off. Clay had later told Desmond that he'd thought he'd come across some sign that someone had been out there back when he'd been doing some surveillance of the farmland shortly before they'd left for Brazil, and the two had spent some time mulling this over, wondering if it was in fact the same person or not.

Whether this meant that they were already aware of the temple or they found it unlikely that the cave held any answers was still unknown – but one thing was for certain, the longer Abstergo went without barging on down there the more likely it seemed that it was the latter. They couldn't keep this up forever though – sooner or later… they'd find out. As Shaun so aptly put it, with their time and their resources, it'd only take a few more days at most.

Desmond still hadn't maintained a firm heading on the key's location, and his nerves were on the absolute edge. It had gotten to the point where Thursday night – the day before they were due to leave – he'd had to almost beg Clay to allow him to extend his sessions in the animus. The blond did so grudgingly, but it was clear that Desmond's resulting seven hour session was weighing heavily on his conscience. Everyone's moods were sour, and the slightest look at one another was enough to set them all off.

After a tense evening snack during their half hour break, William had stood up and had called them all to attention.

"Listen up… we're getting nowhere here," he announced. "It's not getting any easier to find this key, and we have to leave tomorrow. So what's going to happen is this – I'll go to Cairo while the rest of you stay here and work on getting a location for us."

Desmond stopped eating, his eyes slowly widening as he placed his hamburger down and gaped at his father.

"Wait… _what?!_ "

Rebecca had glanced up from her salad, and both Shaun and Clay froze where they stood.

"You can't be serious, Bill…" Shaun's brows were raised under his glasses. The look that William fired at him told the Brit that he most certainly was.

"We need to find that key and time is running out. I'll make the trip."

"What about Cross?" Eyes turned to look at Desmond, the man standing up himself now as he gazed at his father. "You can't just—"

William strode up to him, reaching out and clapping his son lightly on the shoulder. The corners of his lips twitched upwards faintly into something that Desmond was surprised reminisced something like a smile.

"Everything's going to be fine." And that was that. He pulled his hand back and grabbed his coffee. "I'm going to head out to the airfield tonight – the sooner I get a head-start on this artefact the sooner I'll be back to see what's been done about the amulet." He took a sip of his drink, his eyes sweeping over those present.

"Keep working on things here like usual."

He then walked off, coffee in hand. No doubt he'd gone to the room he'd claimed for his own here in the temple to grab last-minute essentials for the trip. As soon as he'd walked out of earshot everyone turned to one another, looks of disbelief echoing on all their faces.

"What the hell?!" Rebecca exclaimed.

"I don't like this," Shaun sighed.

Clay remained silent, and Desmond had just shaken his head, not wanting to participate any more than he already had. He knew his father would be able to handle Abstergo with no problems – he _was_ the leader of the assassin Brotherhood after all. But he was also his father.

And despite the arguments they constantly fired at one another, the disagreements and the yelling… Desmond couldn't help but worry for him. If it was one or two or five or even _ten_ Templars, he wouldn't be concerned in the slightest. But Abstergo planned to capture them. All of them. There was no telling how many agents they'd have lined up waiting in the museum.

Twenty, fifty, a hundred… who knows, maybe more.

He wanted to run up to him, to tell his father that he was being stupid… but at the same time he knew that that wouldn't be very well received. It was pointless to argue with William Miles. Desmond had learnt that the hard way from a very young age – that was how he'd gotten the scar on his lip, after all.

Eight years old and his father had hit him in the face with enough force to leave a permanent injury on his mouth from the wedding ring he wore. It was engraved with the assassin motif, and it was sharp as all hell. And it all happened because Desmond had tried to run away from his father when he yelled at him to get back to his lessons. It wasn't his fault he was homeschooled and he hated his teacher – at least, that was what he kept telling himself as he sobbed himself to sleep that night.

Pushing those unpleasant memories out of his mind now, Desmond sighed and sat back down, cramming the last of his hamburger into his mouth more so out of a need to occupy his thoughts with food than because he was hungry.

"What are we going to do about the flights?" He heard Shaun ask from the corner.

"I'm working on cancelling 'em right now," Rebecca answered, her brows furrowed in concentration as she glanced at her computer.

"You find anything remotely helpful in my session today?" Desmond raised his voice, trying to change the subject.

"Did you?" Rebecca arched an eyebrow at him. Desmond sighed. The answer, they both knew, was no. Sure Connor may have discovered Charles Lee's location at Fort George courtesy of Haytham, but beyond that… absolutely nothing. He fixed a small smile on his lips.

"Well played."

"Speaking of remotely helpful, how are things looking on the outside?" Shaun had spoken up again, looking at Clay who had just been about to take the seat in front of Desmond. The blond looked at him.

"So far so good," he answered. The others looked visibly relieved by this news, and as he made to turn back to his food, Desmond exchanged another small smile with the man. Clay had been working relentlessly on surveillance since the morning, and he couldn't help but think that something in their conversation that one night had contributed. Not that he wasn't focused on ensuring everyone's safety before, but now he appeared even more so.

Even as he thought back on it now, he was left feeling this odd sense of both accomplishment, satisfaction and gratitude. Not for what Clay was doing for them, but because he'd helped him. What had started out as Clay being the one to calm him down from the visions Juno fired his way had turned into Desmond freeing a weight from the man's chest; sometimes when he'd wake up he'd see him shifting around in his sleep, restless and unwilling to get proper rest and he'd noticed that Clay had slept better that night than he had in a long time after what he'd said to him. And he knew that was because he'd changed the topic of conversation away from his own misfortunes and he'd listed to Clay for once.

And he'd damn well do it again. It was a nice feeling, being able to do something like that. Unfortunately though thinking about all that now didn't exactly lighten his mood about the current situation at hand with his father.

"So provided nothing goes haywire tomorrow do you think you'll be able to have us a location?" Shaun piped up, turning his attention to Desmond.

"I don't know Shaun," Desmond admitted quietly. He didn't think it very likely, but another seven hours would hopefully change that. As it was his head felt like it was spinning every so often from the session he'd just finished, but he was resolved to push through this. He'd been in that thing a lot longer for a lot less back in Abstergo and the Auditore Villa, after all.

He stood up then, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. When he pulled his hands back down he saw his father re-approach them all from the nearby corridor, stuffing something into his jacket pocket as he did so – passport, most likely.

"I'm going to head off now," he spoke up, his voice seeming to echo around the small gathering. He lifted his hand in a wave and he turned his back on the four. Eyes turned to lock onto one another, everyone clearly having something to say, but at the same time they were unable to think of how to say it.

Caught in the tension, it was Desmond who was the one to eventually crack.

He cussed under his breath as he stood from his chair and strode over to his father, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around as soon as they were all out of ear and eyeshot of everyone else.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hissed lowly, both his expression and his voice echoing acute disbelief. "Come on dad you're being—"

"Being what?" William asked, eyebrow raised as he pushed his son's hand off his shoulder. "Son, I don't know what you're so uptight about. We need to get this artefact and the longer we waste debating this the longer it'll take for us to get both it and the key." William's words rang harshly but true in Desmond's head, and he knew that his father was right… he _knew_ it but it didn't stop him from disliking this plan. As he was trying to fish for an appropriate response he saw William's expression soften slightly, and the man elicited a low chuckle as he clapped Desmond on the arm.

"You think I won't be able to handle a whole swarm of Templars blocking my way, is that it?" He sounded amused. "Get that out of your head right now. You're being ridiculous. I've been fighting them since before you were even born. Literally."

He made to walk away, leaving his son standing there with a heavy sigh falling from his lips until he came back, clasping him with both hands on the shoulders this time as he gazed steadily into Desmond's eyes.

"Keep yourself together, kid," he murmured. "It's the home stretch. We can do this." He clapped him on the arm again, then pulled away and resumed walking towards the tunnel entrance. "I'll be back Saturday evening."

And so Desmond was left to simply stand there, nodding his head dumbly as he rubbed the back of his neck and watched his father's retreating form disappear into the darkness of the tunnel ahead. He knew that the best course of action was to drop it, so it was with grudging admission to that fact that he did so, turning back around and re-entering the sanctum area where the others were still seated waiting for him.

"Feel better now?" Clay asked, the man's tone cheerful though the look in his eyes told Desmond that he understood what was going on. Desmond nodded, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he replied.

"Yeah, loads."

"Good, now we can get back to work. That key isn't going to find itself," Shaun blurted out, interrupting Clay when he made to answer. Both he and Desmond rolled their eyes at that, but at the demanding look thrown their way by the historian they knew that he wasn't simply joking around.

Seeing no choice but to continue on again for now (despite the fact that they were all exhausted from the day's events), Desmond strode over to the animus and settled himself down, Rebecca and Shaun manning the computers beside him, and Clay sighed as he clapped Desmond on the shoulder reassuringly before striding to the computers opposite the rest of them, sitting and training his eyes immediately on the security feeds from outside.

He saw William walking out of the clearing, making a beeline towards the van that lay camouflaged under the tree cover. He frowned, resting his chin in the palm of his hand as after a minute the van reversed, William driving it away from the cave entrance. Soon he was completely out of sight.

He only hoped that the man knew what he was doing. No one here wanted to be the rescue party if things went south.

The longer he reflected on that, Clay gave a faint chuckle of amusement. It would appear that he was starting to think too much like Desmond, if those thoughts just then were anything to go by. This was William Miles, his _mentor_ for Christ's sake. The man had a stick permanently shoved up his ass but he was damn good at his job, that much couldn't be denied. He would be fine.

So as he settled back and let the video feeds unravel before his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to stray to Desmond himself. That seven hour session this morning had been torture, for lack of a better word. Perhaps not so much for Desmond, but certainly for Clay himself. He blamed it on the memories of his time in Abstergo, the mere thought of spending a mere hour in that thing being enough to set him on edge for the rest of the entire year if he wasn't careful.

He wondered though if it might affect Desmond more than he'd previously thought – after all he seemed fine right now (putting the occasional dizziness aside), but what about when he tried to get to sleep? Considering what had happened the other night he wasn't exactly eager to find out. Juno had pulled a number on him, that was for sure.

Clay didn't think he would be able to forget any time soon the way Desmond had just grabbed onto his hand like that when he'd walked past him – and what he'd cried out mere seconds later had made Clay pause where he stood, feeling his mind numb and his heart seem to freeze in place.

" _No… Clay's not like Lucy. He won't betray me..."_

Clay could only gape down at him. Was _this_ what Juno was trying to worm into his head? It was laughable, and indeed Clay most certainly _would_ have laughed then if the whole thing wasn't so damn terrifying. So it was all he could do to act surprised when Desmond had woken up a short while later, telling him that Juno had put in a good word about him.

It was the least he could do, after all. He didn't think Desmond would have appreciated it very much if Clay were to outright tell him that he'd been listening in whenever he started sleep talking (though it was kind of hard not to). But that brought him to the next matter at hand – he _would_ have to tell him at some stage, that he'd been saying all these things.

He looked over at Desmond now, who was still settled back in the animus.

He'd have to tell him… but not today.

* * *

Twenty four hours had passed and nothing had changed.

They slept in five hour shifts, with Shaun spending the last four hours tapping into the radio, gleaning all he could about the solar flares which even now made themselves more prominent over certain regions around the globe.

William had gotten in touch with Rebecca early the next morning after he'd left, saying that he'd boarded the flight due for Cairo. That was twelve hours ago, and with the contacts they had the jet that he had taken would land him directly in Egypt without the need for transit at any interconnecting airport. Though despite the fact that he should have been due to touch down in the capital any minute now (if he hadn't already landed), they hadn't heard anything yet.

This, however, was no cause for concern among them – seeing as security and cell phone surveillance was tight where Abstergo was concerned. Besides, he wouldn't stop just to let them know how he was faring or if he was successful or not. He was all about the work – get the job done, and get it done quickly. No doubt the next message they'd get from William would be from him in person when he arrived back at the temple tomorrow evening.

So they pushed all thought aside and focused on the here and now – Desmond especially. He was getting closer to locating Charles Lee's whereabouts. He'd been in for another seven hour session, and though he found it certainly more taxing to undertake these extended timeslots (he was feeling drained and his head was sore), he only wished he'd started these longer sessions a lot earlier. The number of memories he was sorting and pushing through almost baffled him – in fact, as a small bubble of excitement rose in his chest he felt confident he'd finally have a location pinpointed by tonight.

He was just about to sit down in the animus again for his last session for the evening when Rebecca stopped him.

"Desmond…" Her tone was unusually sombre as she locked eyes on him, her grip on his arm almost painfully tight. Desmond blinked, straightening himself up as he focused on her.

"Rebecca, what's wrong?" He'd taken a break for a while in his room, and he hadn't seen the others since he'd last come out of his session. Clay had gone outside to do some more surveillance, and Shaun was listening in on the radio once again. He didn't know where Rebecca had gone off to, but one thing was obvious right now – the news she had for him wasn't good.

His first immediate thought was Abstergo. He was just about to ask her to confirm if his fears were correct when she cut across him the moment he attempted to do so.

"Something's happened, Desmond… I need you to come with me for a minute."

She dropped her hand from his arm, and all he could do in that moment was simply blink and nod his head.

"Yeah… sure, ok…" He sat up, dusting himself off and following cautiously as she led him past the computers and out towards the side corridors leading into their rooms. He kept pace quickly behind her, Rebecca striding swiftly through the blackened halls. She then turned a right towards the end, and as Desmond entered the partially collapsed archway after her he realised that these were the quarters that Shaun had opted to choose for himself. Sure enough, in the centre of the dilapidated room hunched over his laptop, there was the man in question. He looked up when Desmond and Rebecca approached, and his face was grim.

"Good, you're here," he began. "I asked for Mark to finish his surveillance and come down here too. Did you happen to see him on your way in here?"

Desmond shook his head, sharing a glance with Rebecca before stepping forward.

"No… what's going on?"

Shaun sighed.

"I came across a little something sent to us a short while ago."

Desmond took another step forwards, his eyes narrowed.

"What was it?"

Shaun bit his lip, clearly debating how he was going to tell him. Desmond now felt his fear replaced with agitation, and he was just about to tell Shaun to hurry up and be out with it when Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder and looked up at him, fear written all over her face.

"Abstergo has your dad…"

For a moment Desmond thought he hadn't heard her correctly.

"… What?" The longer he stared at her face, Rebecca's eyes pleading with him as she glanced back at Shaun, the quicker it took for Desmond to realise that this wasn't a joke. He felt his mouth go dry. "Where?"

"Italy. Same place they were holding you," Shaun answered quietly. Desmond didn't reply for a long time, simply standing there as if he'd been struck dumb. His mind felt incredibly empty – like their words had glanced off the top of his head.

He heard the sound of footsteps rushing in from behind, and he didn't turn around – even when he heard Clay's voice.

"What's going on? Did you find anything?" He strode into the room, taking only two steps in before stopping completely still. His eyes landed first on Desmond, and with the tension building in the air around them, coupled with the looks on Shaun's and Rebecca's faces, it didn't take a genius to know exactly what had just happened. His eyes slowly widened. "Oh no…"

It was then that Desmond finally spurred himself into action.

"What are you all waiting for, _let's go!"_ He cried out, fear giving way to an anger which empowered him to move, to swallow down the dread and bury it under the rising need to leave, to get out of here and find his father. It still hadn't fully sunk in that Abstergo had taken him. He refused to believe it.

Something like that would never happen.

It _couldn't_ happen. His father would never be so careless.

He turned around and was just about to race out the door when he was stopped by Clay, who'd wrapped a hand around his arm and had shaken his head, the look in his eyes clearly pleading with Desmond to calm down for a moment, to get all the facts before he rushed out there. It was a good thing he did too, because otherwise he would have missed what Rebecca said next.

"There's more…"

Desmond closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as he took a step back and headed back over, Clay dropping his hand and walking with Desmond towards the computer that Shaun was sitting at. As he waited for the man to open up a video file, he ground his teeth together, his hands clenching by his sides. He still refused to believe this had happened.

However when the screen blared to life and the static image of his father bound helpless in a chair as a familiar grey haired man donned in a white lab coat circled the hostage, he was beginning to realise that this might not be just some sick hoax after all.

Desmond felt his stomach drop away from inside him, and for a minute he thought he was going to throw up.

" _Hello again, Mr Miles. I hope this message finds you well – or as well as it can, all things considered,"_ Warren Vidic announced as he walked with hands clasped behind his back, a cheerful smile on his lips as he paused in direct line of the camera. Desmond felt his skin crawl, and beside him he was faintly aware of Clay taking a brief step back. He didn't blame him. Vidic then turned away, resuming his pacing around William, who could be seen struggling against the bonds tying his hands together.

" _I know you have many questions you'd like to ask. How did we find you? How were we able to successfully subdue and detain your father? Surely you haven't forgotten that Abstergo has eyes and ears everywhere?"_ He chuckled, circling William once more and then pausing now behind him, all amusement draining from his face as he narrowed his eyes. Even though this was a recording, Desmond couldn't help but get the unsettling feeling that Vidic was staring right at him.

" _But that's not important. What_ is _on the other hand… is that it appears we now each have something the other desires. I propose a trade. Bring me the Apple, and I'll return your father to you no worse for the wear. Should you refuse, he will still be returned… albeit_ much _worse for the wear,"_ Vidic continued, letting his words ring out as he took pause.

Then a slow smirk pulled at his lips.

" _I assume you'd like to avoid an unpleasant outcome."_

The screen went black, and the video ended.

Shaun exhaled sharply under his breath as he sat back from the screen, sharing a glance with Rebecca who had previously had her eyes trained intently on the recording. Then as one they looked up at Desmond, who remained frozen where he stood.

He could feel the other's eyes on him, he could feel Clay placing a hand on his shoulder to offer some silent form of sympathy, of reassurance that it would be ok… but he couldn't bring himself to react. He could only stand there. He felt like he was caught halfway between a nightmare and a dream… and as he finally managed to gather enough strength to meet the gazes trained on him he felt that it was very much the former.

"We have to go find him…" His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. Shaun stood up.

"Obviously. But we have to be careful – if Bill couldn't get past them all then—"

" _Who fucking cares?!"_ Desmond's voice rose to a yell and he stepped forwards, Clay letting his hand drop by his side when Desmond moved. His brown eyes were wide as he gripped his head, fear once more dulling his anger and filling his senses. He could feel himself start to hyperventilate.

"Desmond you need to calm down—"

"ABSTERGO HAS MY DAD, REBECCA!" Desmond cut across her, not caring for how hysterical he sounded in that moment. Rebecca on the other hand looked visibly affronted, but before either she or Desmond could do anything else, Clay stepped in and grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and dragged him back.

"Excuse us for a second," he murmured lowly to the others, Clay pushing Desmond out the door and into the hallway. Desmond tried to struggle against him but Clay proved too strong, the blond clasping both of Desmond's shoulders with his hands as soon as they were out of sight of Shaun and Rebecca.

"Desmond, this isn't helping right now!" He hissed, his ice blue eyes locked on Desmond's face. Desmond tried to struggle again against the man's grip, but Clay was having none of it. He dug his fingers tightly into Desmond's shoulder blades, ignoring the way he winced momentarily.

"Well how else do you expect me to handle this, huh?! _You tell me, Clay!_ " Desmond hissed back, throwing as much venom as he could into his words as he gripped the man's hands with his own and glared at him. He then sighed as soon as he saw the look on Clay's face, and he closed his eyes as he sucked in a sharp breath and held it for a moment. Feeling himself calm down somewhat he then reopened his eyes, and his hands fell back to his sides.

"Vidic wants to trade him for the Apple..."

Clay nodded, seeming visibly relieved somewhat that Desmond had (for the meantime anyway) appeared to have relaxed a little.

"And it's pretty damn obvious he can't have either," he finished off, managing a faint smile. Desmond nodded, watching the older man warily, as if hoping that the longer he looked at him they might be able to think of a plan to help them out of this predicament they now found themselves thrown into.

"Look, Desmond. We're going to Italy to get Bill back, that's a given, but getting all uptight about it isn't going to help things. Believe me. I should know. Kind of been at the bottom end of desperation myself more than a couple of times."

Desmond nodded again, taking another deep breath to try and clear his head. It was working, somewhat.

"I know, I… I know. I thought I'd be better than this but…" He trailed off, biting his lip as he shook his head. "He's an asshole… but what am I supposed to do? That asshole is my dad…"

Clay managed a faint grin at that, though it didn't reach his eyes. He was clearly just as put off by this as Desmond was. Hell, they _all_ were. He waited a moment longer for Desmond to get his bearings, the man clearly trying to reign in his frustration. It took a while, but eventually he nodded once more, and Clay removed his hands from Desmond's shoulders, giving him the freedom to head back into the room beyond to meet Shaun and Rebecca as they sat there patiently waiting for them to return.

"Sorry you guys, I'm… feeling better now," he mumbled. Shaun looked like he wasn't buying it, but Rebecca seemed pleased. "What's the plan?"

"Well you have to be absolutely bonkers if you think we're going to be handing over the Apple to Abstergo," Shaun began drily, arching a brow behind his glasses. Desmond ignored him.

"I'm going to get to work on the flights right now," Rebecca spoke up. She was just about to add something else when Desmond held up a hand, interrupting her.

"I think it's better if I go alone."

A brief silence echoed around the walls.

"… Are you bloody serious?" Shaun gaped, mouth open wide. Clay stepped forward.

"No, he's not. I'm going with him," he announced, Desmond blinking and firing a stunned look in his direction. "It'd be best if you two stay here. After all we know that Abstergo have their eyes on this place so the least we could do would be to have someone keep them out for as long as possible while we drop in and get Bill out of there. Two heads are better than one, after all."

"But—"

"No buts, Desmond. It'd be safer this way," Clay muttered, turning now to meet Desmond's eyes.

"Abstergo—" That was all he managed to get out, the frantic whisper of that single word clearly communicating to Clay exactly what it was that Desmond was so scared of. Clay would have found it endearing at any other time, endearing and very amusing indeed, but right now there were bigger things to worry about, so he arched a brow and answered coolly, his tone nonchalant as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"—Have your father, the grand bloody mentor of the assassin Brotherhood locked up and you're not going to be able to get through them by yourself. I'm coming with you whether you like it or not. Deal with it." The look in his eyes said everything he couldn't say aloud: _I'll be fine, don't worry about me._

There was no denying that returning to Abstergo wouldn't be a walk in the park, and it wasn't just because of the Templars there. Clay had ended up suffering greatly at the hands of Vidic, and he would quite literally be revisiting the place of his death. He knew he would be in trouble the second he stepped through those doors, but for the sake of the world and Desmond's safety he had to risk it.

Desmond on the other hand clearly looked like he wanted to argue this, but a quick clear of the throat from Shaun diverted his attention.

"That's fair enough – ok then you two go ahead. We'll make sure things don't go south here. Rebecca, what time are we looking at in getting them there?"

"Sent a message to the airfield – they're all good and ready to go right now so they'll be there in about eight hours," the technician replied, looking up from the computer screen.

"Right, well that's something at least," Shaun answered, turning his attention back to the others. "Don't worry about passports and all that bollocks. We'll keep airport security off your back but as soon as you get into Abstergo you're on your own I'm afraid."

"Thanks," Desmond mumbled.

"What about the Apple?" Rebecca then piped up, looking unsure about her question as she glanced first from Desmond to Clay.

"We're taking it with us," Clay answered. The smile on his lips only grew when disbelieving – if not a little questioning – stares were thrown in his direction. "Vidic's not going to lay a hand on it. Something tells me we might be able to use it to our advantage."

"… How, exactly?" Shaun asked, sounding sceptical. "None of us can exactly use the damn thing."

"Desmond can," Clay answered simply. He looked to his left just in time to see Desmond freeze, the man clearly mulling this over in his head. After a moment he looked up, seeing eyes on him. He nodded, slowly at first, but then much more quickly as he ran Clay's words over in his head.

"He's right. I can." If anyone here could use it, it would _have_ to be him, after all. Clay might be able to to some extent, but his DNA ultimately didn't match up (especially seeing as the body he was inhabiting was not his own); Desmond's however was the convergence of two distinct bloodlines which Juno seemed to take great pleasure in reminding him time and time over was what made him so unique. He would be able to properly wield the Apple if it ever came down to it. He just hoped it wouldn't.

Eyes glanced back from one person to the next for the following minute or so, each and every person gathered there clearly having something to say, but not finding the exact words or the courage to say it. So eventually it all came down to Desmond, who managed a smile to the best of his ability as he held out his hands and shrugged his shoulders in a defeated gesture and turned around to walk back out into the hall.

"Let's go."


	17. Chapter 17

On the flight over they were completely silent. Not a word was said between the two, but in a way Desmond was thankful. It allowed him more time for his thoughts, after all. He gazed out the window at the late night sky as the jet prepared for its descent into an airfield just outside Rome. Glistening lights from houses and buildings dotted the ebony landscape, and the horizon was tinted with the first flares of reds and oranges of the pending sunrise. The flight itself was quick, thanks to Rebecca's extensive contacts who had scored them a private jet, one in which was not limited by standard passenger aircraft flight paths nor speeds.

He toyed with the bands of his hidden blade which were strapped firmly around his right wrist. He'd swapped the blade over, taking it off of his left arm both out of a necessity to use the combat knife Rebecca had provided him (he'd gained a fondness for dual-wielding thanks to Connor, and he now felt more comfortable and protected with two weapons instead of one), as well as the ease within which he could utilise his primary blade with his right hand, which was his favoured hand to use in such life and death situations as he'd discovered from his various training sessions.

Clay sat beside him, his eyes downcast as he toyed with his hands in his lap. He'd been given a knife too, but he'd strapped it to the sheath that he'd fastened around his thigh. He didn't even spare it a proper glance when Rebecca had first handed it to him, and Desmond had the distinct impression that Clay was hoping he'd never have to use it. He couldn't blame him though – as capable as they both were, he didn't want this to end in a bloodbath. Taking a life was never easy, and no matter how much he tried to reassure himself that this was the right thing to do, these Templars were the _enemy_ after all… the guilt and the unease clenched at his heart and refused to let go.

If they managed to make it out of there alive it wouldn't be long until they were charged with manslaughter. Then they'd have the police _and_ the rest of Abstergo on their asses while the sun flared merrily away and brought the Earth closer to its final hours. That reminded him – today was the 14th. They had exactly one week left.

To try and take his mind off of that he looked back out the window again; the jet continued its descent onto the runway and give it just another minute or two and they'd land. He resumed fiddling with the straps on his hidden blade, tightening it to his arm as if afraid that it might fall off… or as if he was trying to avoid ripping it off on purpose.

"You're ok with this?"

Desmond blinked, looking over to Clay who'd just spoken for the first time since boarding the flight back in America.

"Ok with what?"

Clay shrugged, his attention still focused intently on his hands in his lap.

"Going in there all guns blazing, I guess. Also let's not forget we're on a mission together and god knows we butchered the last one."

It took Desmond a moment to piece together what the man was saying, and when he did he sighed. Clay was right – the last time they'd gone out on the field had been in Brazil, and considering how that night went down… if he was perfectly honest with himself up until recently he'd forgotten about that little 'incident' in the park.

But now that he'd been reminded of it, he cleared his throat and forced his brain to focus on something else for the moment.

"We're here to rescue my father," he muttered, managing a light chuckle as if to somehow change the mood. "This time we're looking for _them_ and there won't be any need to give them the slip."

Clay's lips twitched into something vaguely reminiscent of a grim smile and he simply prepared to stand from his seat, the jet having touched down and was now coming to a taxi across the runway, the cabin shaking slightly from the jostling of the wheels over the tarmac.

"I was actually talking about Cross. He's going to be here tonight, you realise that right?"

Desmond paused, feeling his limbs lock up and freeze just as he was about to undo his seatbelt and stand. Sensing Clay's eyes on him he cleared his throat, nodding quickly and dusting himself off.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah I know." He reached behind him to pull his hood over his face, more so to hopefully avoid looking as embarrassed as he felt. "I mean that's a given, right? Vidic's got him on a tight leash. He's shown up every other time we've gone looking for one of those artefacts, so…" He finally chanced a quick glance back at the blond, and he saw Clay looking fixedly at him with a brow raised. He didn't say anything to point out Desmond's glaringly obvious discomfort however, which was something that Desmond was grateful for.

The pilot called out something from the front of the jet, opening the main hatch and sliding it out to reveal the tarmac at their feet and the black of night before them. A cool breeze filtered into the cabin over the drone of the turbines, and feeling grateful for the distraction they jumped downwards onto the ground, offering waves in the pilot's direction. They jogged over towards a black Mercedes which had been parked on the side of the tarmac; the driver was another of Rebecca's contacts, and the middle aged brown-haired man greeted them with a nod as he ushered them inside onto the back seat before getting in himself and slamming his foot down on the accelerator.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat, Desmond settled for glancing out the window once more as the car sped off away from the airfield, the city lights of the Roman outskirts greeting him. He felt a bout of nostalgia sweep over him, and he realised that the last time he'd been to Rome was through Ezio's memories. Seeing the city in the distance now, he tried his best to ignore how foreign yet startlingly familiar the place seemed. If he concentrated hard enough he swore he could see Ezio now – leaping from ruin to ruin. His fingers twitched by his sides, and he had to tightly clench them together to remind himself that they had a job to do. And that job was getting his father out of Abstergo.

"Rebecca told me where she wants you to be dropped off," the driver spoke up to them as he glanced at the pair through the windshield mirror. His accent was Italian, but underneath there was a distinct English drawl to it. Desmond, in order to distract himself, half-wondered if he should ask him if he had actually been to England, but the more rational and sensible part of himself told him to forget it – especially when he'd spoken up again. "I hope you both know what you're doing."

A wan smile crossed Clay's lips.

"So do we."

And that was the end of the conversation. Desmond could once more feel Clay's eyes on him, and this time he had a very good idea why. They hadn't actually discussed how they were going to make it through Abstergo yet. Of course it was blatantly obvious that they would have to fight their way in, but beyond that… would they have to use the Apple? Would Cross intercept them and end up killing them before they would even have a chance to use it? Exactly how many people would have to die tonight just so they could free William and get that power source?

They needed to start thinking about this now, otherwise the whole mission would go to hell before it even started. Mustering the strength to turn his head to face his friend, Desmond knew the very second he locked eyes with Clay that they had both come to a unanimous agreement.

They'd figure it out along the way.

Somehow that didn't make it any better. Desmond ignored the way his stomach churned and how his fingers seemed to automatically fly to grasp the strap of his bag, the weight of the Apple uncomfortable against his back.

_Focus, Desmond._

He looked back out the window, watching as cars drove past and wincing as streetlights blinded his eyes. Using his father as bait to lure them to him carrying the Apple… Desmond only hoped Vidic thought it was worth it.

Because he was sure as hell going to make sure he paid.

* * *

The parking lot was filled with cars, the rows upon rows of shining, gleaming hoods under the moonlight almost enough to momentarily blind them both as their driver pulled over by the curb and ushered them out. He'd then driven off, leaving the two of them completely alone.

They looked upwards, and the seven storey office block gazed down at them from high above, its futuristic high-tech lobby doors marred by the obnoxious and ominous sight of the Abstergo logo plastered to its glass windows. At the very top of the building, high above and barely visible from where they were standing at ground level, the phrase _Abstergo Industries_ was illuminated in both English and Italian in bright white neon.

The voices of workers echoed around the grounds, coupled with the sounds of traffic on the freeway on the horizon. Behind them apartment blocks lined the streets, and Desmond realised in that moment that this was the first time he'd actually been able to take in the industry's location. He'd been kidnapped, bound and gagged when he'd first showed up here, and then Lucy had taken him to the basement parking lot, shoving him unceremoniously into the trunk of her car as she'd driven them to the safety of the abandoned warehouse Shaun and Rebecca had set up in within the heart of Rome.

He had no clue what the place looked like on the outside, and now he did. And he hated it even more.

"C'mon," he mumbled somewhat stiffly as he urged for Clay to follow him, the two beginning to pick their way through the parked cars around them. Clay nodded, but the anxiety in his eyes did not go unnoticed by Desmond, who didn't comment – and that was just fine with the both of them.

They walked quickly, but not so quick as to draw unwanted attention to themselves as they navigated their way onwards. A few workers were stopped here and there, talking to one another and laughing or hanging around the corners of buildings. The air was hot, almost stiflingly so, and Desmond had half a mind to slip his hoodie off. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that he would be instantly recognisable if he showed his face – Abstergo having gotten a rather good look at it after all (probably studied it, too) when he was held prisoner here three months ago. Not that the hoodie in and of itself wasn't entirely inconspicuous, but if it delayed them from recognising him for a few seconds longer that would mean a few more seconds allowed to them to run away.

" _You guys in there yet?"_ That was Rebecca, her voice crackling over the headsets when they came within direct sight of the rotating glass doors.

"Just about," Desmond answered, lightly tapping the side of his microphone in the hopes that the static would go away. Rebecca had decided to not use the cameras this time around – after all any form of surveillance would be picked up by Abstergo immediately, and they'd be dead before they'd even taken a single step into the lobby. So she was just sticking to the microphone. It was still dangerous, but significantly less so than if Abstergo had hacked into Rebecca's monitoring drones.

They jostled over to avoid knocking into two men wearing white lab coats as they made a beeline for the exit, and glancing around them they took their first steps into the pristinely kept office foyer around them – their first steps inside since they'd been captured and held prisoner. The weight of such a revelation was heavy on their hearts, and even more so on their ability to remain calm and collected in amongst the sea of scientists and Templars.

Blue eyes locked onto brown, and the two men knew in that moment that nothing about tonight's mission would run smoothly. Something would happen, either to them or to someone else they didn't know… but what they _did_ know was that every day after this one wouldn't be the same ever again.

"We're inside," Desmond murmured, whispering into his headset. He hoped Rebecca could hear him ok over all the chatter of people present because he sure as hell didn't want to raise his voice any louder than he had to. He didn't think he _would_ be able to, anyway. While he waited for a reply he joined Clay in tilting his head back and taking in the reception area, a long table set out before them serving as the partition between the entrance and the first floor. Glass panels lined the walls, the ceiling and floor a blinding shade of white save for the green, pinks and reds of the feature walls comprised of flowers and shrubs, and behind each panel men and women were gathered, hunched over computers and consulting with customers.

A finely dressed woman in a pressed formal suit sat behind the desk, and Clay nudged Desmond lightly in the arm with his elbow to draw his attention to her as she looked up from her computer momentarily to see them standing by the entrance. She quickly returned to her work, but the manner within which she had done so, as if she was afraid of being caught, was some cause for concern. Desmond nodded, indicating that he'd seen her.

They were onto them already.

" _Great. I don't have a lot of time to explain but try going to the upper levels. Seems like the best place to start... is there an elevator bank down the hall? Try not to let them see you."_

Clay gave a faint snort of amusement at that, and even Desmond couldn't help but smile grimly as they strode past the woman at the counter, acutely aware of the way she craned her neck to follow their every movement… and sure enough as soon as she noticed that they'd paused in their steps and were eyeing her directly, she hurriedly turned around and lightly tapped her finger to her intercom, lowering her head in the appearance of one resuming their work… but it was painfully obvious that she was whispering in hushed tones when she was certain they'd passed out of both eye and earshot.

"They know we're here, Rebecca. There's no way they don't," Desmond muttered, turning back around and matching Clay's slow strides with his own as they picked their way further towards the elevators at the very back of the first floor lobby. He tried his best to ignore the stares of workers when they walked by, and Clay had noticeably clenched his hands by his sides.

" _This… this was a bad idea,"_ Shaun interjected over the speaker.

"You think?" Clay shot back. There was a noticeable silence on the other line. Ignoring this, the pair inched ever forwards, a group of workers pushing trolleys filled with supplies momentarily blocking their view of the elevators at the far wall. Inching around the obstruction they kept their pace, eyes darting uneasily back and forth and all around until they were at last afforded an uninterrupted view of the lifts.

Two men were standing guard in front of them, as if waiting. They were agents, dressed in the familiar navy blue and bright yellow uniform, tasers clutched tightly within their grasps.

"They've even got a homecoming party set up for us. Classy," Clay mused. Desmond scoffed – appreciating the dry humour as it helped to take his mind off the fact that those agents looked very surprised indeed to see the two of them approaching. It was clear they had only been expecting Desmond himself. Even now he could see one of them whispering hurriedly into his radio, as if seeking guidance from his superiors regarding what to do with the blond man accompanying him. The other guard took a step forwards, clearing his throat as he barred their way.

"Hand over your weapons and come with me, gentlemen," he ordered gruffly, his accent American. Not surprising really, considering Abstergo was an international corporation. He looked like he was in his mid-thirties with mousey brown hair and a fine layer of stubble dotting his chin, and his eyes were a hard grey – cold as steel. What he appeared to lack in the physical department with scrawny limbs and a stick-thin figure, he seemed to make up for with his sharp gazes and authoritative tone of voice which made Desmond very tempted to simply go along with him and do as he asked for the time being.

"Weapons? Who says we have any?" Clay interjected, a wry smile pulling at his lips as he arched an eyebrow. The man blocking their way swivelled his gaze on him, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he made note to flex his fingers. Clay appeared nonplussed – in fact he damn right looked like he was _enjoying_ the agent's attempt to threaten him. Unfortunately though, Desmond knew that look perhaps better than anyone else. Clay might have been putting up a strong front, but on the inside he was just as on edge as Desmond was right now. Hopefully the guard was left none the wiser, otherwise things would go downhill much quicker than originally anticipated.

"We can show ourselves in, but thanks for the offer," Desmond added, seeing no reason why he couldn't humour himself and go along with it, glancing over the agent's shoulder just in time to see the man's friend nod and mutter something over the radio, switching it off after having apparently just received confirmation about something. He strode up to join the other guard, staring the two assassins down. He was taller than the other man blocking their path, and had a more robust figure. He had auburn hair and his hazel eyes held no amusement in their unfeeling depths.

A loud crackle of static pierced the air, and the workers and customers alike all lifted their heads as they glanced around in search of the interruption, Desmond and Clay following suit as they froze where they stood. Someone had turned on the intercom, and the voice that sounded over the microphone was one which made their blood run cold.

" _I'd rather this not turn ugly, Mr Miles."_

It was Vidic.

Desmond heard Clay growl something scathing under his breath, and carrying much the same sentiments himself, an unmistakeable hostility leeched into Desmond's words as he looked around him and raised his voice.

"Then let us through."

Vidic only laughed.

" _Subdue the subjects, please."_

Whatever comment or query both men were about to make to question Vidic's words then was cut off by the guards in front of them loosening their tasers and swinging them threateningly within their grasp. They acted on instinct.

The blade by his palm hissed outwards as Desmond flexed his wrist, his eyes narrowing and his gaze locked intently on the auburn haired man before him. His blood was pumping, his heart was pounding and he felt dizzy with the waves of adrenalin which spurred him into action – he lunged forwards, grunting as the guard made to slam his taser down upon Desmond's torso; he grabbed the guard's wrist, kneed him sharply in the gut and used the momentum gained to slice his blade upwards straight into the man's jugular. A sickening gurgling noise sounded within his pierced throat, and blood gushed in spurting rivulets down the side of his neck and shoulders, splotches of deep crimson staining Desmond's white hoodie a permanent red.

Ignoring the panic that flared through his chest at his actions, Desmond threw the corpse aside, the man slumping lifelessly down onto the floor beneath him. Screams erupted through the hall, the foyer a maddening blur of people as they tripped over one another in their hurry to escape outside. The sound tore through Desmond's ear drums, but he couldn't stop to worry about that as he heard footsteps race up behind him, and then Clay yelled out loudly over the commotion for him to duck…

He did so, Desmond gasping as he scrambled forwards and rolled out of the way. That split second passed him by as if in dizzying slow motion as he saw Clay grab the first guard, threw his arms around his neck and snapped it with one fluid pull of his hands, and then he reached down and pulled out the knife he had holstered by his thigh and threw it at the agent who had been running up towards Desmond from behind. The blade sailed through the air, the breath sucking sharply out of the guard's lungs as the knife lodged neatly in the centre of his chest and he fell backwards with a heavy _thud_.

Then a hand came down to clasp around Desmond's own, and he found himself pulled up from the ground by a very worried looking Clay.

"Not exactly how I'd hoped to get through the night, but we both knew it'd have to come down to this, yeah?" He tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sickened groan, the blond barely casting the bodies a glance before he leant down, pulled his knife free and wiped it clean on the agent's uniform before rushing off to the lifts. Desmond only mindlessly nodded, dashing towards the elevator and jumping inside with Clay as soon as the doors opened. They slid to with a metallic _hiss_ , and the pair were left catching their breath. They tried to divert their eyes away from the carnage before them. People were still screaming.

"Rebecca, we're in the elevators," Desmond panted. It was a moment until he heard her response.

" _Desmond are you ok?"_

"We're fine Rebecca just tell us where to go," Clay interjected. It was clear he didn't want to draw this out any longer than necessary. Apparently hearing the urgency in his voice the woman wasted no time in continuing.

" _Bill could be anywhere you guys, I'm sorry but I just don't know where he is…"_

Desmond sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow.

"That's ok. I do." It might not have been entirely true, but he had a damn good hunch about where they could make their start. Clay looked at him, moving his lips to silently mouth out the words _"Animus Project Lab?"_ , as if guessing Desmond's train of thought. It wasn't surprising, really.

Desmond nodded.

"Fourth floor," Clay muttered, a grim smile on his lips as he lifted a hand and pressed the corresponding button on the control panel. The lift jolted and ground into gear, and began its ascent. The ground floor dropped away from under them, and as Desmond saw the pools of blood steadily streaming from the fatal wounds they'd inflicted on the guards, he was painfully reminded of the mess he'd made on his hoodie. He chanced a quick look down and felt his stomach churn uncomfortably when he saw the blood soaked through into his sleeve. It was still warm. He could feel a headache forming.

It concerned him greatly that he and Clay had just technically committed manslaughter on the office grounds, and with a sinking feeling Desmond realised that soon it wouldn't be long until their faces would be everywhere on the news if Abstergo deemed it appropriate enough to make a public example out of them. They needed to get out of here and find William, and they needed to do it now.

Despite the dark turn of his thoughts and the uneasiness settling over his brain however, it still vaguely amused him how quickly he had chosen to fight… how carelessly he'd been brushing away the life he had taken when he was caught up in the moment and could only focus on defending himself...

Perhaps he was becoming too much like his father, like Connor, Haytham, Ezio, Altaïr… it frightened him. He gripped his head, shaking it to try and bring his mind back to the present. That was when the lift stopped dead, and jostling around lightly from the sudden jump of the elevator around them the two men froze and looked at one another.

"What's going on?" Clay hissed. Desmond didn't know. They'd stopped halfway between the second floor and the third. He was about to reach out to press the buttons again when he paused, the sound of static crackling over the intercom giving them no small hint as to exactly what had happened.

" _Well, I see you've learned absolutely nothing since you left us. Walking into an elevator in the middle of a hostile environment? Really?"_

Desmond's hand curled into a fist over the control panel, and he shared a dark look with Clay.

"Where's my father?" He didn't yell, but his words echoed loudly around the lift regardless. Vidic laughed.

" _You'll see him soon enough. Now be good the both of you, and wait for security to fetch you."_

There was another flare of static and the line went dead. Desmond cussed sharply under his breath, taking the opportunity to slam his hand against the control panel before pulling back. He then looked at Clay, as if hoping that the man might have something to say right now that would somehow make this scenario better.

"Any bright ideas?"

Clay lifted his head, gazing upwards at the vent at the top of the elevator.

"Well we could always do this the old-fashioned way…" He looked back at Desmond. The younger man sighed heavily, nodding and already making to push the vent upwards, loosening it enough to throw it to the side so they could have enough room to make the climb. Then he was jumping up, grabbing the edge of the vent and heaving himself through, grunting with exertion as he did so. As soon as he managed to secure his footing on the top of the lift, he crouched down and extended his hand, helping Clay jump upwards and then sitting back when the blond lithely hauled himself up beside the younger assassin. He dusted himself off, giving him a nod and closing the vent back over, the metal gratings screeching in faint protest.

Then they looked up.

"Let's go," Desmond murmured, indicating the shaft above them. Thankfully there were enough wires and pipes to navigate around to make the climb that they would need to reach the fourth floor. All they had to worry about now was ensuring they made it before security arrived. He jumped again, grabbing the first rungs of railing firmly with calloused palms, and he pulled his weight upwards.

Clay followed, picking his way alongside Desmond. It was slightly ironic: two assassins scaling a towering structure to circumnavigate past the roaming eyes of Templars. History really did repeat itself, it would seem – with or without the help of the animus.

They'd made it halfway before they heard voices from above.

" _They're headed up the elevator shaft! Send someone in!"_

"Shit," Desmond cussed under his breath, gritting his teeth and willing himself to climb higher, faster before they got caught. He saw Clay following suit out the corner of his eye, the blond easily keeping up with him as they jumped and grabbed ledge after ledge.

" _Need eyes on them!"_

" _They can't be that far…"_

The yelling from above was growing louder the closer the pair got to the ledge leading off towards the fourth floor. Soon they stopped, grabbing onto the metal railing, their arms aching from the effort to hold themselves upright whilst they waited to check if the coast was clear. Desmond was just about to call on his Eagle Vision in the hopes that his second sight would be able to give him some idea about what was going on outside when he froze.

The metal door barring the elevator shaft entrance opened, and through the steady beams of light streaming in from the hall, they saw a head peek out and one of the guards glance down the shaft. They ducked down, being careful to make as little noise as possible. Thankfully the shadows hid them enough to keep them mostly out of view, and Clay nodded to Desmond, indicating that the man should strike now while he covered him. Desmond pushed up, flicking his wrist and ignoring the cold metallic _hiss_ of his blade as he grit his teeth and lunged upwards. The guard released a sharp yelp of pain – that yelp soon cutting short as the blade sunk into the flesh of his thigh, and Desmond heaved backwards, groaning against the weight of the man as he dragged him over the edge of the railing and let him drop to the bottom of the shaft below with a sickening dull _thud_ and the sharp crack of bones.

Yells from outside indicated the other guards lying in wait had borne witness, and Clay moved before either of them could get a chance to react. He launched himself over the railing, bursting forwards and grunting in effort as he elbowed both men sharply in the chests, using the time granted to him as they coughed and wheezed to grab their heads and smack them together, sending them sprawling downwards into unconsciousness. Their guns dropped down to the floor and clattered with a loud ringing sound. Clay picked one up, grabbing a spare magazine from one of the men's belts and then straightened himself up again as Desmond dusted himself off and jogged up next to him. He accepted the gun that Clay passed to him, stowing it in his pocket for lack of anywhere else to hold onto it at present.

"Nice one," he murmured, following the blond as he led the way, Clay diving down to pick up another gun and another round of magazines for himself.

Clay replied with a lopsided smirk as they darted around a corner, checking quickly to see if the coast was clear. So far so good.

"So while we have this brief moment to ourselves, let's evaluate the situation. We're not going to be making it out of here with Bill without murdering half the entire building," the blond spoke up, backing up against the wall next to an open doorway and peering cautiously into the meeting room that greeted them beyond. Inside were crowds of anxious looking workers dressed in identical white coats, and at the far end of the hall there was what appeared to be another open doorway leading out into an outside terrace beyond. "The garden's a new one. But the room we're after is right outside following that walkway there," he added in a lower voice.

He turned to look at Desmond when he realised the younger man hadn't responded. He frowned, no small amount of concern in his eyes as Desmond remained standing where he was, back pressed against the opposite side of the door. He was watching the room beyond, scanning the heads of those gathered to see if any guards were wandering about. A quick survey in Eagle Vision informed him there were several who were patrolling the outside route that Clay had just been talking about. He sighed, nodding absentmindedly.

Truth be told, he was still feeling sick to the stomach about what they'd done already. Sure they were Templars and it was only the natural thing to do (at least that was what he tried to tell himself – this war had been waging for far longer than either faction themselves knew after all), but still…

_Taking a life is never easy… and I've taken several._

"Assuming we _do_ manage to make it out of here alive," he muttered, "how long do you think we'll last before we're broadcast around the entire country as mass murderers convicted of a hundred accounts of homicide?"

Clay pushed away from the wall, already preparing to dart on inside to continue along.

"Put it this way – the world is screwed no matter what happens so there's really no point in trying to keep a low profile anymore. We're assassins, Desmond. Unfortunately this is what we were born to do. It's in our blood."

_It's in our blood_ …

Desmond stopped in his tracks.

That was just it, wasn't it? It was all in their blood.

He remembered something he'd told himself, what felt like centuries ago. Back on that island in the animus. His life had flashed before his eyes then, when he'd first found himself waking up there. It was like stepping through into a portal, reliving each key event that had led up to that day – becoming captured by Abstergo, undergoing training…

He'd said something to himself when he'd finally regained control over his mind shortly before Clay had come up to him and had asked if he could help him leave. He thought over those words now, hearing them echo deeply within his brain.

" _I am an assassin. I_ AM _an assassin."_

He'd said it with such conviction too, finally believing that he'd found his purpose in life; not as a bartender, not simply driving his motorbike along the highways as the sun dipped below mountains. No… he'd told himself that he would take up the fight. Because if he didn't… who would? Juno would have her way, the Templars too. And everything would have all been for nothing.

The words continued to toll like a great bell, ringing proudly and true.

" _I am an assassin."_

It was all in their blood.

"Desmond?"

He was roused out of his thoughts, Clay clicking his fingers in front of the man's face to get him to focus. What questions he was about to ask died swiftly on his tongue as the blond saw the look in Desmond's eyes. A grim smile formed on his pale lips instead, and he clapped the brunet on the shoulder.

"C'mon."

Desmond nodded, returning the same grim smile as he curled his hand into a fist by his side. He'd made his choice. He would fight his way through and live, or he would die trying. There was no other option. It didn't make him feel any more at ease, however – but he wasn't expecting it to. He'd deal with the consequences as they came. It was what an assassin did, after all. Altaïr had taught him that. He remembered hearing the stoic man's words, cold and clear as he stood before Al Mualim in Masyaf that day.

_"When things change… I'll adapt."_

Two guards rushed at them from the open doorway. They fell to the ground even as their yells of agony were muffled by the echoing gunshots that tore through the office. The workers screamed and fled, Desmond and Clay lowering their guns by their sides. They hadn't even batted an eyelid when they'd fired, Desmond noted as they raced past the corpses. No second thoughts. No regrets. Just a clear focus on the mission.

If he cleared his head he could forget about the moral grounds that caused him to falter. He could save his father and get him out to safety.

_I'm changing. I'm adapting._

His headset blared to life.

" _Got a status update for me?"_ Rebecca asked over the radio. The pair burst through into the outside garden. A walkway spanned out before them, overhanging the grassy square below where tables and chairs were laid out for workers during their breaks.

"We're on the fourth floor now," Desmond answered, paying no heed to how breathless he sounded as they tore down the walkway, alerting the attention of a group of agents who had congregated by the exit. They yelled out, raising their weapons.

Clay silenced the first man to run at them with his gun, Desmond gritting his teeth and grunting with the exertion as he ducked the reach of the next; he brought his blade up and sliced it clean through the throat of the guard making to attack him, sending him sprawling to the ground when he pulled his bloodied hand back.

The last guard faltered at the sight of his comrades falling one by one before him… and for a minute it seemed as if he would give up and throw down his gun if only it would enable him to run away safely and still keep his life. But he changed his mind at the last minute, apparently favouring the mad idea that he could somehow take on the both of them alone.

One quick kick to the gut followed by a swift slice to the throat by a silent blade proved him fatally wrong.

"Any more coming?" Clay panted out as they sprinted towards the door they saw a few ways ahead of them, leading into the second half of the building where the main Animus Project facility was located. Desmond glanced around, his eyes flaring from the forced switch into his second sight as he called upon his Eagle Vision yet again. He shook his head; he couldn't see anyone coming up at the minute. He was just about to tell Clay that when he stopped, reaching out and grabbing the man's arm to pull him back.

"Four more. Right over there."

Clay didn't get a chance to reply – the window rising up to meet them on their right-hand side burst outwards, the two men having to shield their faces as glass splintered and shattered around them. Then the sound of yells met their ears and they were pulled into action, fending off the agents that rushed at them with weapons held high. The scuffle lasted no more than five minutes, with both Clay and Desmond easily dodging the blows sent their way. They moved fluidly, countering each attack and leaving enough time while the guards were stunned to finish them off with a blade to the neck or a gunshot to the brain.

"Have to say," Clay grunted out, grabbing his knife and lodging it in the throat of the next guard to come running at him, "we make a good team, Des."

Desmond panted something vague in response, not really having the capacity to respond in any manner other than that as he finished off the agent's suffering, putting him out of his misery by aiming a powerful roundhouse kick to his head and sending him flying towards the broken window. The man's body fell through, shattering even more glass around him. Desmond finally had a moment to respond then.

"We'd better."

Clay grinned, his smile soon morphing back into a serious press of his lips together as he motioned for Desmond to follow again. He did so, and the two carefully jumped through the window, being sure to avoid injuring themselves on any stray shards of glass that lay scattered about. Clay pointed to a door which was situated at the end of the hallway on their left. It wasn't the only door in the corridor, but it was the only room which had the words 'Animus Lab' illuminated brightly on the plaque alongside it.

Desmond felt his mouth momentarily go dry. A quick look over at Clay showed him that the blond wasn't feeling much better off himself. His jaw was set and his hands were clenched by his sides, but no matter how uneasy the man looked he continued to push himself forwards until he was standing directly in front of the doorway. It hissed open.

The sight that met them was one which was not welcomed in the slightest. As they crossed the threshold into the prison beyond (because that's exactly what it was. Both of them could attest to that), eyes darted uneasily from wall to wall. They were silent, glancing around hoping in vain to find some sight of William.

It was quickly becoming apparent that he wasn't here.

The animus was, however. And that was where Desmond found his eyes drawn to now.

He stepped forwards, his feet dragging on the ground as he stared blankly at the white machine before him, blue grooves situated in its surface to accommodate the figure of whoever it was that was unlucky enough to be forced to lie back down on it. He could remember it now – his back pressed against the cold, hard metal, the visor sliding over his eyes and directing his attention as he was left with no choice but to watch as history repeated itself – literally – before his sight.

He forced himself to look away and he took in the empty walls around him. The night sky was visible through the clear glass windows, the desk that Vidic would so often sit at every morning still lying in exactly the same spot in front of the animus as it had been when Desmond was last here three months ago. Then he turned his head to the right, and sure enough he saw the conference room… and to the right of that, the door which led into the cell which had been set out for his makeshift bedroom and restroom…

"He's not here." It took a great deal of effort to get the words out, and unsurprisingly Desmond's voice was hoarse. He turned around to look at Clay, and his next words died in his throat as he saw what the blond was doing.

Clay had been silent the second they'd stepped in, and because of that Desmond had momentarily forgotten that he was with company – as distracted by the unwelcome sight of the laboratory as he had been. Clay had meanwhile stopped exactly where he'd entered the room, and he was crouching down on the ground, his left hand extended as he traced something on the spotless tiled floor.

Desmond took a step forwards, eyes narrowed in concern.

"Clay?" He was so worried in that moment that he'd completely forgotten that his microphone was still switched on as he approached. Clay didn't lift his head, but his brows knotted together in concentration as he mumbled his response.

"I started here…" he murmured, almost unintelligibly. "After I'd finished with my room…"

It took Desmond a moment to figure out what it was that he was talking about. As soon as he realised he felt his stomach drop.

"Clay… you don't have to—"

Clay ignored him.

"It took me ten minutes to draw them. Then another twenty out here," he continued. His fingers continued to gingerly trace the white floor. A vacant expression had entered his eyes. "I had to hurry – they'd have come back at any second. They gave me half hour breaks, but only if I was lucky..."

Desmond had inched forwards closer, fascinated despite himself as he watched Clay trace out the glyph he'd once written here on the floor where they were now standing.

"I can still see them…"

His eyes seemed to slip into his second sight almost of their own accord at Clay's whisper. It was something so natural, Desmond didn't even have to think about it. And sure enough – as the world around him glared violently in shades of muted grey, he saw the red outlines of the glyphs mapped permanently into the floors and walls around them; stains that could never be removed, the blood an everlasting reminder of the sacrifice that one man had made to ensure Desmond saved the world.

His vision returned to normal, and he fought the growing need to be sick.

Clay stood up then, his steps slow as he approached the animus. That same vacant look remained in his eyes, and he reached out a hand to indicate the machine before him, lowering his fingers to dance them idly across the smooth white surface.

"This was where it ended," he whispered. "I'd bled out all over it… I had less than a minute left. I had to be quick… I strapped myself in... uploaded my consciousness into the databanks…" He trailed off for a moment, his hand dropping limply to his side. His eyes roamed over every inch of the animus.

"They came back and found me here… I was already gone."

He turned to look at Desmond then, hearing the man's steps pause beside him. His expression was sombre, defeated.

"… Then they tossed me into the river."

Desmond didn't answer for a while, knowing that there would never be anything he could say to make this remotely better. So he simply held Clay's gaze for a moment longer before reaching out, stepping closer to clasp the man's shoulder reassuringly. He remained silent but it was clear that the gesture, however small it was, was appreciated by the older man. It was some time until Desmond pulled his hand back, nodding to the door.

"We should leave."

Clay gave no argument, and they'd almost made it to the hallway when they were stopped.

Something clicked behind them - something sharp, metallic. It was followed by two heavy footfalls which echoed around the lab room. The assassins froze, not needing to glance behind them to know that they were held at gunpoint. They cast wide-eyed glances at one another. How had they not noticed that they weren't alone?

The sound of a door sliding closed soon confirmed the very reason why. Whoever it was had been hiding in the conference room, and of course with all the distraction… they hadn't even thought of checking in there.

They turned, slowly. And found themselves staring directly at the tall figure of Daniel Cross.

"Give me the Apple."

Clay pulled Desmond down, Desmond grunting and rolling over the animus following Clay as they jumped forwards, diving behind the machine with hearts pounding rapidly in their chests as the gunshot rang out through the laboratory walls, Cross having fired the second they'd ducked to try and make their futile escape.

Scrambling back so their backs were pressed against the cold metal, they cast another wide-eyed glance at each other. Their looks said it all: _We can't leave. We're dead._

The footsteps drew closer.

"Let's not draw this out," Cross drawled, sounding irritated as he sighed. The sound of a magazine being clicked into place filled their ears, and as they glanced at the ground the pair saw the shadow of the man inch ever closer as he replenished his gun with bullets.

"You've got nowhere to go and I've got a gun. Speaking of which... it's the 21st century and you're still running around with only a tiny knife for protection, Desmond? It's stupid."

He paused, no doubt enjoying himself greatly as he hovered at the head of the animus, simply waiting to see if his words would spark any kind of reaction from the two men he knew were crouched down in place, trying uselessly to hide from him. Desmond's eyes narrowed, and he swallowed the dry lump in his throat. Beside him Clay cussed violently under his breath, the blond cautiously peering a little further towards the side of the machine. His hand had flown down to his gun, his fingers tightening around it. Desmond watched out the corner of his eye.

"But then again, I have to say I'm kinda surprised you opted to come along for the ride this evening too, Clay. This place has bad memories for you, am I right?"

Clay's eyes widened, and his hands promptly lowered. Desmond felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He could only stare at the man next to him.

" _What?"_ Clay whispered harshly, voice strained. Desmond could only shake his head – he was at just as much a loss for words as Clay himself was. How the hell Cross knew it was Clay… he had no clue. But he knew that the answer, whatever it was, wouldn't be pretty.

Cross chuckled lowly from somewhere behind them.

"Taking some poor loser's body and wearing it like a meat suit… genius. Mark Landers, I think the guy's name was? Pretty handy, him being an assassin too and all. Imagine Warren's surprise when I told him."

Clay closed his eyes, and it was clear that he was trying to calm his breathing, to focus on something other than the implications behind Cross's words to try and pull himself together.

"Because I _did_ tell him. He wanted me to tell you that he has no more use for you. You shoulda stayed dead, man. Oh well. Second time's the charm…" The sound of a gun being clicked into place echoed once more around the laboratory walls, and Clay quickly spurred himself into action and spoke up.

"How did you know?"

Desmond had to hand it to him – he didn't think he would have been able to have kept his voice as level as Clay had managed just then. There was a brief silence, and it wasn't long until Cross answered.

"You forget we have tabs kept on all tracked assassins? Landers was targeted by the Templars since day one. Why else d'you think we put him in that coma?"

As he spoke, Desmond noticed Clay's hands tightening around his gun again, the man withdrawing it carefully to hold it by his side. It was then he realised what he was doing – Clay was keeping him talking for long enough to take him by surprise. He shot a quick warning glance in the man's direction, and Clay offered a small smile, however pained it was. It was clear he wasn't taking this news too well. Neither of them were. Desmond felt sick all over again.

"And then when a guy in a coma suddenly gets up and starts walking around all over the place, you know something's wrong. I told Warren he shoulda flushed you out of the animus here while he had the chance, but he wouldn't listen. Wanted to make sure Desmond found you and your crazy symbols first. Well, look where it got him. Both of you. Here. Killing your way through our ranks." He paused to give another dry chuckle. "I gotta admit if you weren't so fuckin' annoying I'd be applauding you right now."

"Well we'll try harder next time," Clay gave a tight smile, no mirth in his voice as he raised his gun. He was preparing to peer out the side of the animus again, to see if he had a clear shot. "Don't suppose you tracking the temple grounds had anything to do with me either, did it? If it didn't I'd be pretty disappointed."

Cross took another step closer.

"Hey, you're lookin' at the wrong man. I wasn't involved in that shit. Orders from the top."

That caught their attention, both Desmond and Clay casting another incredulous glance at one another. Cross had nothing to do with that? Then who did?

"What do you even want with the temple?" Desmond spoke up, finally finding his voice. He ignored Clay glancing at him in favour of holding his hand firmly around his wrist, his hidden blade tucked securely around his arm and reassuring him as he ran his fingers over the leather straps that held it in place. "You don't even know what to do with those artefacts."

"I know enough to know that this is a pretty shitty way of trying to distract me."

That comment caught both men off guard, and sure enough as they glanced up – having heard Cross's voice dangerously close by – their stomachs dropped as they saw him glancing down directly at the both of them, having made his way silently to the very end of the animus. A cold smirk was on his gaunt face, twisted and cruel.

His gun was pointed at their heads. Close range. Point blank. There would be no way in hell he'd miss.

"Time's wasting boys, I've got places to be. Game's over."

A split second was all it took for them to react, and a split second was all it would take for him to end their lives…

But he didn't.

He didn't because in that moment he couldn't. Cross froze, and Desmond and Clay were left to watch as the man's hand started to shake. He gripped his gun tightly, but his free hand rose to clutch at his brow. He started to pant for breath.

"Not now…" He whispered, and he sounded like he had difficulty talking, as if the air had been sucked painfully from his lungs. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his teeth as he fell back, gasping erratically. At the centre of his forehead a strange, glowing light seemed to form… not unlike the golden rays that would pulse from the Apple when it was held within Desmond's palm. The assassins were unable to tear their eyes away, unable to do anything save watch and wait as Cross's groans grew more frantic, and he shook his head, clawing at his skin like some wild, rabid beast.

"Not… _now!_ " His voice rose to a yell, and when his eyes snapped open, they were wide – unseeing. A string of harshly toned words fell from his lips, foreign sounding and desperate. Desmond felt fear clutch at his heart, and he then knew what it was he was bearing witness to. This was the Bleeding Effect… in its most primal, dangerous form.

And it's exactly what would happen to him if he ever lost himself the way that Cross had.

" _NIET! GET OUT!"_

Cross turned and fled, his screams echoing down the hallways of the laboratory as he bolted through the door, as if he was running for his very life. Clay slowly rose from behind the animus, the man silent as alarms blared to life, piercing the air and muffling the wailing cries of agony from Cross's mouth.

Desmond unsteadily followed, placing a hand on the animus to help keep him upright as he gazed blankly at the doorway.

"What the hell was that?" He whispered. He didn't get an answer. Clay grabbed him by the arm and pulled him towards the doorway, the sounds of yells and footsteps thundering through the hall beyond. Security had already caught up.

They barged past, not bothering to waste precious moments of time in battling off guards when Cross was fleeing. Overhead amongst all the chaos and the blare of the sirens, they could hear Warren Vidic's enraged cries over the intercom.

" _What the HELL is going on down there?!"_

"Up there, quickly!" Clay yelled, indicating a hard left turn that Cross had taken, the man haphazardly shooting bullets behind him as he howled over the voices in his head. Desmond nodded, panting as he spurred himself on, sprinting down the corridor alongside Clay as the pair gained speed on him. They ducked as a stray bullet hit the wall by their heads, and they cussed sharply as the distraction almost cost them their concentration on the matter at hand; Cross was running directly towards a window, a window which – from where they were at the end of the hall – they could see led down into a factory of some kind.

He came to an abrupt stop then, groaning and throwing his head back, his screams high and wild.

" _Get out! GET OUT! GET OUUUUUUT!"_

He span around, shooting a well-aimed bullet directly at their heads. Desmond swore, dodging behind a pillar at just the right time, Clay having dived to the side to scramble back against the opposite wall. Their hearts were pounding fitfully in their chests, their lungs burning with the strain to regain their breath. Cross let out a broken groan, shaking his head, gripping his hair, clawing at his cheeks – and then he rammed into the window before him and crashed through, toppling downwards towards the ground as shards rained down around him, glinting and sharp.

The sirens overhead were a maddening cacophony of sound, and the yells of the guards grew louder behind them. Clay jumped back to his feet, sharing a look with Desmond and the younger man followed, the pair diving out the broken window just as security entered the hallway behind them. They could hear the frustrated growls of the agents as they lost sight of the two assassins, and balancing as carefully as they could on the thin wires and metal railings that they had landed on after jumping down, both men navigated as swiftly as they could towards the end of the rungs, landing carefully onto the ground below as they swung down.

They ignored the startled gasps of the workers around them, the two taking a moment to stand and dust themselves off, panting harshly. They looked around them then, taking in the expanse of the warehouse. What they saw, safely locked away in rows upon rows of cubicles stretching on as far as the eye could see, was an animus. Hundreds of them.

"Dear god…" Clay whispered hoarsely. Desmond nodded, unable to form any words of his own. He remembered this place. The last time he'd been here was when Lucy had helped him to escape. That was three months ago – and the number of animi here had noticeably increased since then.

"Where's Cross?" He murmured, dragging the both of them back to the present. Clay blinked, shaking himself out of it and already jogging towards the end of the row that they were facing. The alarms were still going, though thankfully they weren't as loud down here as they had been above. They knew they wouldn't have long until security caught up to them again.

"Listen for the screams," he smiled grimly, glancing back at Desmond. Desmond didn't smile.

"The _fucking_ hell was that back there? That… that Bleeding Effect?!" He'd almost choked on his words as he drew himself up to a halt next to the blond, the pair peering cautiously around the edge of the cubicle they were pressed against, both trying their best to ignore the animus locked away inside. They scanned the rows ahead, seeing nothing but workers.

"I thought I had it bad," Clay muttered under his breath, pushing away from the wall with Desmond in hot pursuit as the pair pressed quickly onwards. "I've never seen anything like that. I can only assume that's what an entire life in an animus will do to someone."

That was the end of their brief conversation, as at that moment a figure had dashed madly past them. It took them less than a second later to realise that that figure was Daniel Cross.

They took chase.

Clay reached down and pulled his gun out, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he took aim at the man who even now continued to yell, scream and claw at himself some ways up ahead. He glanced frantically around, Desmond levelling his own pistol at the man's head, but then Cross was gone. With sharp cusses falling from their lips, both assassins could only stare as Cross pulled himself upwards onto the top of the cubicle he was standing next to, and he began to race from railing to railing, jumping up and scaling the space above the ground level.

"Shit!" Desmond hissed, unable to get a clear shot. There were too many wires and other metal bars in the way. Clay turned around, and he nudged Desmond in the shoulder, indicating the steady stream of guards that even now were making their way towards them from behind.

"Clever bastard, I'll give him that. Even if he _is_ off his fucking head!" Clay growled, shooting one guard and then another, his bullets meeting their mark with startling precision and accuracy. Desmond flicked his wrist, his blade loosening with a metallic _schick_ and he lined one bullet at the stomach of a guard who was set to rain down upon him, and as soon as he fell, incapacitated and groaning in agony as blood pooled from his wound, Desmond ducked and plunged his blade into the heart of the next agent that came to avenge his fallen comrade.

The sounds of screams and wailing pleas of mercy indicated that the workers had been alerted, and everything turned into a dizzying blur as strike after strike was landed, grunts of pain echoed sharply around the halls, the sirens increased their all-encompassing crescendo, and Daniel Cross continued to make his escape.

And through it all, a lone voice could be heard overhead, roaring in defiance across the intercom.

" _Enough is enough! I invited you here in the spirit of co-operation, but you've responded to my hospitality with only violence! I had hoped we might preserve you and further study your memories, but you're not worth the trouble. I hereby authorise the use of deadly force! Kill the bastards! And then BRING ME THE APPLE!"_

Feeling desperate now, desperate and out of breath, Desmond's arms moved fluidly, his blade meeting the strikes of the tasers raining down on him by the two agents who had cornered him and backed him against the nearby cubicle wall. It was clear they were fully intending to take Vidic's words to heart, as even now their eyes flared with the kindling bloodlust associated with one who was about to make the killing blow.

"DESMOND!"

Desmond nodded as he heard Clay's frantic yell. He wasn't going to be taken down so easily. Groaning, he kicked out, catching one of the guards by surprise and causing the man to grunt as he gripped his gut. He used this moment of distraction to then grab the second agent by the head and throw him towards the cubicle wall. His body collided with a sickening _thud_. When he fell down, yelping in agony, Desmond silenced his cries by slamming his blade down into the back of his neck.

The sound of a gunshot echoing sharply within the cavernous hall indicated that Clay had fired another bullet straight at the skull of the man whom Desmond had momentarily incapacitated with his kick, and the agent soon slumped downwards against the bloodied concrete. Then the blond span around, sharply countering with his arm what otherwise would have been a severely debilitating blow to the back of the head from the man who had lunged forwards behind him. The agent's eyes widened, the man hissing as Clay's fingers tightened around his arm in an iron-like grip, and Clay grit his teeth as he crushed his skull down in a merciless headbutt, forcefully jerked the man's lolling head upwards and then shoving the barrel of his gun directly into the mouth of the terrified and dazed-looking guard.

The sound of the shot was muffled by the man's mouth, and brain matter and blood splattered against the walls and floor as he fell. Stumbling back, Clay shook his head and tried to wipe off the blood that had smeared across his face, his expression contorted into a look of disgust. Desmond honestly didn't blame him, but neither of them were spared the moment to worry about the carnage. Cross had made himself known again, the man's hoarse yells echoing overhead.

They reacted quickly, their guns drawn and aimed at his head as he made the unfortunate mistake of jumping down from the railings above.

As he picked himself back up he paused ever so slightly, turning his head to fix wide, frightened eyes on his assailants. That was when Clay and Desmond both knew they had him; the acceptance and the understanding of his fate written all over his face. Cross gave no fight, and it was clear that in that moment he'd finally regained enough sanity to willingly let himself go, to stop the voices once and for all.

They fired. The bullets connected. Cross fell to the ground, eyes open and unseeing.

Desmond lowered his gun. Strangely enough, he didn't feel any regret for what he'd just done. Instead he glanced down at the corpse, and perhaps in some ode to what the man had once been – an assassin like them – he felt obligated to offer him one final farewell.

"Requiescat in pace."

He turned then, Clay pulling him along as the pair raced towards the elevators, desperate in their attempts to escape the warehouse to find some sign of where William was being held hostage.


	18. Chapter 18

"Where's Vidic?" Desmond panted as he placed a hand to his headset. Seeing as William hadn't been in the labs, that left only one plausible location left for where Vidic might be keeping him. His heart was pounding in his chest as the elevator doors closed. Beside him Clay was busying himself with trying to wipe the remaining smears of blood off of his face, and having decided that this was the most he could do for himself now (he still had some red flecks along his nose and cheek), he promptly gave up.

It was a long time until they heard any kind of response from Rebecca.

"… _Fifth floor,"_ she answered, with some noticeable degree of hesitation. Desmond had half a mind to ask her what was wrong, but he'd already slammed his hand against the control panel, the lift accelerating upwards as he pushed the corresponding button.

He exhaled sharply, casting a sidewards glance at Clay.

"It was the right thing to do," Clay murmured, as if he'd already guessed Desmond's train of thought. Desmond sighed. He knew he was right (it seemed he always was, after all), so he allowed himself to push the thought of Cross out of his mind. He felt no remorse for the man, no pity nor sorrow… rather, he felt… well, nothing. It disconcerted him. He thought he'd at least feel angry considering he'd been hunting them both down and had effectively been the one behind Abstergo trailing them all since they'd gotten Clay out of the hospital (though he had denied his involvement, but even then they still had their doubts - he was a snake, after all. And snakes could never be trusted)… but… still…

_Requiescat in pace – rest in peace._

That was what he'd said to him. He didn't owe that to Cross, that sense of respect that Ezio would show the departed as their lives extinguished by his hand. But he'd still said it. The man _had_ been an assassin, after all.

It seemed only fitting.

The lift gained altitude and soon enough it came to a halt at the fifth floor. He drew his attention back to the matter at hand.

"We're here. Where to next?" He muttered into his headset, holding onto it again. There was a lot of static on the other end; he couldn't quite hear Rebecca properly.

" _Vidic's office should be somewhere up ahead."_

He lowered his hand, tightening it around his gun. Clay had done likewise, the man leading the pair of them out of the lift and pausing for a moment as they took in the cream coloured walls, well-lit ceilings and carpeted flooring of this roomy office space. The corridor ahead branched out into two separate directions, and before them was a large mural emblazoned with the mocking presence of the Abstergo Industries logo.

"Obnoxious _and_ overbearing. What more could you want in a company?" Clay chuckled drily as he ran his eyes over the wall. He fell into step behind Desmond, who ignored his comment for the time being. He was focused on trying to decide on where to go next, but fortunately the elevator bank on the left side of the hall made the decision for him. They turned right…

… Only to find themselves coming face to face with a group of agents who had turned the corner at the exact same moment. Guns were drawn, and bullets went flying - both Desmond and Clay barely able to dive behind the nearby wall in time as glass shattered behind them from where the bullets made impact with the picture frames hanging on the other side of the hall.

" _You... you killed him... Daniel was like a son to me!"_

Vidic was wailing despondently over the intercom as the guards attacked, Desmond and Clay standing back to back as they thrust out and collided knife with skin and guns with heads, the pair swiftly working to try and overpower their aggressors. The third guard to rush at them was met with Desmond's blade stabbed through his throat, Desmond then swinging out with his gun and butting the next guard sharply over the skull with the barrel seeing as he'd used up all his bullets. As soon as this fourth guard was left groaning, gripping his head and hence dropping the gun he was carrying, Clay span around and grabbed him by the shoulders, thrusting his kneecap swiftly up into his face before finishing him off with a rough uppercut followed straight by a knife plunged through the heart.

" _A sickly son, perhaps... but one full of promise... he accomplished so much, and so well! And now you've taken him from me! From_ us _! Like the Apple… like_ Lucy!"

"Doesn't he ever SHUT UP?!" Clay yelled, punching the next agent to approach in the face as soon as the man came too close to him. The agent fell, gripping his nose as splatters of blood dripped down his hands, indicating bones had been shattered. Desmond took the opportunity to land the killing blow, rolling out of the way as another guard swung his taser down from on high; Clay's elbow collided with the Templar's face before he sliced his neck cleanly in half with his knife, covering Desmond as the brief roll left the younger man open to counter-attack from above. Desmond shot him a nod of gratitude, scrambling back up after sliding on the ground to trip up the next guard who decided to rush forwards. When he fell, he was greeted with a hidden blade plunged through his jugular.

"Apparently not," Desmond gasped as he straightened himself up. His limbs were burning, aches and bruises littering every inch of his body. But he couldn't give up, not now. He grit his teeth, headbutting the next guard and lunging upwards with his blade, ignoring the sickening gurgling noises eliciting from the near-decapitated man's throat as blood spurted from the gaping wound.

" _We want to HELP the world! To save it from itself! But you keep getting in the way – all our hard work, RUINED!"_ Vidic was screaming now, the halls seeming to echo with the very rage that wrought his godforsaken soul. Desmond threw his knife cleanly into the skull of an agent that came close to firing a bullet at the back of Clay's head, and Clay swung around and landed a strong roundhouse kick followed by a knife to the throat of the next man that rushed forwards to stab Desmond in the stomach. But seeing comrade by comrade fall to the assassins didn't seem to deter, nor even phase the men who continued to run forwards wave by wave - and it was with two grim smiles that Clay and Desmond realised that nothing but violence would get through to them. So, steeling themselves, they prepared to strike.

Desmond kicked out, his foot catching the next guard's face neatly in the centre of his nose, and as the man yelped in pain Desmond plunged his hidden blade through his chest, pulled out, plunged again and smacked his kneecap upwards into the dead man's throat, pushing him off the blade that had impaled him, allowing Desmond to pull away freely with coagulated blood and fluid glistening wetly off the metal by his palm. Clay threw his gun down, bullets spent, and he moved as a whirlwind - putting all his force into neatly disarming the next man who rushed to swing a taser down at him; grabbing the agent's wrist, he headbutted the man sharply in the forehead, growling and gritting his teeth as he yanked the taser out of his grasp and swung it roughly down upon his skull. Then he finished off with his knife what remained of the groaning, injured guard who joined his comrades on the floor, slumping gracelessly downwards.

"Clay, we might have to get creative here..." He heard Desmond call out beside him, the man holding both blades at the ready - knife and hidden - as he blocked one swing of a taser, spun around and connected first the knife with the Templar's gut, then the hidden blade with his brain. Clay grunted, punching and grabbing another man by the shoulders when he'd yelped out and doubled over as soon as Clay's fist connected with his stomach, then using all the force he could muster the blond ran him into the wall, painfully fisting his hand tightly in his hair and shoving his face into the hanging picture frame - splinters of glass shattering around the agent with sharp fragments embedding in his skull as he slumped down, blood streaming steadily down the wall in splotchy streaks.

"Stay there!" He panted out, nodding to the younger man who steeled himself and crouched down, guessing Clay's intent and narrowing his eyes as the last two agents turned the corner and yelled for them to drop their weapons. It was the last thing they ever said - as at that moment Clay sprinted forwards, grabbing onto Desmond's shoulder and using the momentum gained by his speed to roll smoothly over the man's back, landing straight onto the first guard and thrusting his blade dead centre between his very eyes as the agent grunted and was taken down by the blond colliding with him. His comrade joined him, the pair lying dead side by side as Desmond dashed forwards, slid down and tripped him up as his foot knocked his legs right out from under him, then his blade hungrily met flesh and pierced neatly into the final man's chest. The light died from his eyes as garbled chokes for air failed to pass his punctured lungs. Groaning and straightening themselves back up, the assassins spared a quick glance at one another, their eyes sweeping over each other to ensure that neither of them were hurt.

Then they raced forwards, tearing off down the corridor in search of the office Vidic was hiding in, still screaming loudly over the speakers.

" _YOU'RE FANATICS! ALL YOUR KIND! Maintaining the erroneous belief that WE are evil! That the work WE do is wrong! We ENRICH lives here. We SAVE and TRANSFORM them! But you... you just keep taking and TAKING WHAT ISN'T YOURS!"_

Two more guards turned the corner just as Desmond and Clay had done the same. They shared only a single glance, and then they raised their blades. There was no grace in their movements; they were a team made of rage in its most pure form. They vented their frustrations on the Templars, all the anger that had manifested tenfold within their very beings from their time spent here in Abstergo – rage that had only multiplied as Warren Vidic goaded them on, his words like poison. The last guard fell, his screams dying in gushes of lifeblood as he was thrown to the ground. The two assassins bore down on him, yelling as they took his life and gave him all he deserved. Standing straight and not bothering to brush themselves off, they sprinted off down the next corridor they were greeted with, hoping that they were going the right way. They took a sharp left, and then towards the right, and the next group of guards who ran to meet them fell before they could even draw their own guns. Desperation was driving the assassins now, desperation because they knew that both Vidic and William were within their sight…

Waiting just behind the large door which rose to meet them straight ahead, in fact.

It was marked with the Abstergo logo, much the same as the wall had been when they had first gotten off the elevator. It was obviously locked down, but behind the glass they could see faint figures moving around at the far end of the corridor inside.

A large desk sat behind them, spanning the entire length of the back wall. Glancing around they tried to search for the button which would unlock the office entrance. They found it in the form of the secretary.

She was cowering behind the desk and screamed when they raced past, and as she sat trembling by her chair she cast one frightened glance up at the men standing before her, covered in blood which was both their own and the blood of the agents they had killed. She shrieked and frantically waved her hands in front of her.

"P-please d-don't kill m-me!" She stammered, barely able to get her words out. Desmond's expression softened then, and he felt pain tug at his heartstrings, realising the sight that he and Clay must have made to her. He took a step forward, raising his hands above his head in a gesture of both reassurance as well as to show her that he had no weapon held within his grasp, having stowed his knife back in his pocket as he did so, his hidden blade also sheathed and tucked safely away in the straps upon his arm. Clay had taken a step back, the man simply watching as he waited for her to react.

If Desmond had chosen that moment to look at him, he would have recognised the similar looking pain that the man also held within his light blue eyes. They hadn't wanted to kill all those men. But they never had a choice.

"I'll l-let you in," the secretary sniffled, scrambling upwards and pressing a small button on the underside of her desk. The office doors slid open with a loud metallic _hiss_ , and Desmond offered the woman a soft smile – or as soft a smile as he could manage, given the current state of things.

"Thank you. Leave quickly, it's only going to get worse if you stay," he murmured. The woman nodded, choking on her tears as she almost fell over herself in her efforts to escape. She dashed madly down the corridor, back the way they had come when they had first approached the reception.

That left them alone in the hallway, and they shared a glance as they slowly turned around to face the now-open doorway.

"Take out the Apple," Clay muttered under his breath as they began to walk forwards. Desmond shot him a confused look.

"What? Why?"

"Trust me. Just take it out and hold onto it."

Desmond frowned, but he didn't add any further comment – trusting Clay's judgement on this matter. He slung his bag across his chest, pulling down the zip and rummaging around inside until his hands wrapped around the cool spherical orb. The Apple glowed faintly at his touch, and he tried to suck in a calming breath as he felt the weight of the artefact nestle snugly into his palm. He re-zipped his bag and pushed it back over his shoulder.

They'd passed the barrier between the hallway and the office corridor. They could see a large gathering of guards standing to attention with guns trained directly upon the both of them. Their expressions were emotionless, unreadable.

In front of them lay a singular desk, with a lone man seated bound and helpless on a chair before it. He was dressed in familiar blue jeans and grey jacket over a sweater, and his hair was a shade of equally familiar silver-grey. Desmond's heart leapt into his throat. It was his father.

"Dad!" He called out, momentarily forgetting where he was in his shock. William slowly raised his bowed head, and the look in his eyes was one which Desmond sincerely hoped he'd never have to see again; it was a look of defeat, of sadness that he was being rescued. Rescued by his son.

He felt a hand clamp warningly around his arm, and Desmond was pulled back to reality by Clay as he lifted his gaze to focus on where Clay whispered for him to look.

Warren Vidic was standing behind the very desk that William was seated in front of, and the look on his face clearly indicated that he fully desired to see the two assassins before him ripped apart to shreds. His eyes were cold as he stepped forwards out from behind the desk. When he spoke, his voice was a hissed rasp, barely containing the anger that bled out into his very words.

"Not so fast, Mr Miles. In case you hadn't noticed, _I'm_ the one calling the shots."

Desmond tensed, his grip tightening almost subconsciously around the Apple. As he did so he noticed Vidic's eyes trail down towards the faintly glowing orb held within the young man's grasp, and the look in his steel grey eyes turned hungry… greedy.

"Now _give me the Apple…_ "

He was clearly about to continue, to take a step forwards to call his men to crowd around the two men standing before him when he was stopped - Vidic's eyes darting up briefly and locking onto the man standing by Desmond's side. Clay tensed under that cold, calculating stare, but neither he nor Desmond were afforded any chance to react in turn as Vidic merely smiled. Both men had the unnerving feeling that he was planning something as he studied the pair of them, and they found out exactly what it was when Vidic opened his mouth.

"Ah, Mr Kaczmarek. It's been a while. I trust Mr Landers is suiting you well?"

It wasn't until Desmond heard the sharp gasp elicited by the desk and saw the way that his father's eyes had widened tenfold the moment those words left Vidic's lips that he'd realised what the Templar had just revealed to his father... a man who up until this very moment had known nothing about Clay using Mark's body. Clay apparently realised this himself, and he noticeably froze as he felt William's enraged gaze fix firmly on him. Rage followed by an unsettling look of disbelief and all manner of distrust.

Desmond stepped closer to Clay's side, ready to both hold the blond back or shield him somehow if need be. He could see the anger slowly brimming within his clear blue eyes. This was not a good place for him to be right now.

However, Clay managed to stay calm, the man clearing his throat lightly as he swivelled his unblinking stare upon Vidic. He ignored William as best as he could.

"He'll do. Of course I'd prefer my own body, but what can I say?" He answered quietly, his voice just as cold as the look in Vidic's eyes. The Templar smiled; a dry, calculating smirk.

"Yes, well you had every opportunity to keep your body, didn't you? Only you threw it all so carelessly away…"

"Did I?" Clay's words hissed from his throat as he rose his voice into a yell. "DID I, VIDIC?!" He was about to rush forwards, to no doubt try and hurt the man in some way - and he would have if Desmond hadn't held him back by placing his free hand on his shoulder, silently communicating to him that he needed to remain calm... as impossible as it was for them both right now.

Vidic waved his hand dismissively.

"Trivialities. The fact of the matter is you got what you deserved."

Clay's eyes seemed to flare, and Desmond's grip tightened on his shoulder, though he was finding it damn hard to not rush forwards and have a go at him himself.

"Oh, I'm sorry? Did I strike a nerve?" Vidic's smile grew more amused by the second. "Our experiments with you are officially concluded, Subject Sixteen. You have no more data of use to us."

Clay offered no comment – rather his attention was grabbed by the group of guards assembled who had noticeably stepped closer during that brief exchange. Desmond glanced around him, noticing them too. Their weapons were drawn. They were getting ready to take the Apple by force.

"So if we're quite finished here with all this useless debate, I'm going to take that from you now…" Vidic continued, motioning with his hand for his men to advance further. Clay pulled Desmond back a step, the two assassins once more finding themselves surrounded on all sides. Clay lowered his voice, his words urgent and strained; they had very little time to make a decision until the guards would be on them.

"Use the Apple…"

"What?" Desmond hissed. Clay fixed him with a warning glare.

"Just do it! Quickly!"

Seeing that the next step forwards taken by the guard in front of him would see the man within the perfect range to both reach out and take the Apple by brute force from him, Desmond growled under his breath and thrust the artefact up high.

"You want it?!" He called out, his words aimed at Vidic. "Fine. Here it is."

Vidic's eyes slowly widened.

"Wait…"

The Apple began to glow, its light pulsing, thrumming seemingly from the very core of the artefact itself. Desmond didn't know how or why, but what he _did_ know… was that it was reacting somehow. Reacting to his DNA, if he understood correctly. He wondered if he should think something at it, to see if he could direct its power to… do what, exactly? He didn't know. But what he _did_ know, was that if he didn't do something fast, those guards would be on them.

Luckily, he didn't have to do much at all.

As if seeming to somehow sense the imminent threat, the Apple's light brightened – it blinded the eyes of the guards who surely would have rained down upon them at that very second, and shrieking the men all fell back – gripping their faces as if they'd been burnt by the very sun itself. The Apple felt heavy – unbelievably heavy within Desmond's grasp, and he had to resist the urge to hold it with both hands. Beside him he could feel Clay's eyes on it, the man at just as much a loss for words as Desmond himself was.

Then something happened.

The agent standing next to Vidic yelled out in apparent shock, drawing the attention of the assassins. His hand was moving, raising his gun. His arms were glowing with a familiar gold light not unlike the rays the Apple emitted, just as his head was – similar to how Cross had suffered just seconds before he'd taken off on them, screaming in his sudden onslaught of madness.

Then he'd turned the weapon, aiming it directly at Vidic's head. The man's eyes widened further and he stepped back, raising his hands as he cowered away.

"No…" he panicked, Vidic casting frantic glances first at his own guard holding him at gunpoint, and then at Desmond himself. In his eyes was a pleading, horrified gaze. He looked like a fly who had just been caught in the web of a spider; trapped, with no hope of freedom.

"No… stop… _STOP!_ "

He screamed, and the guard fired. Vidic slumped to the ground, lifeless and bleeding. Desmond froze, Clay cussing sharply under his breath as he took a step back. It didn't end there. The agent whimpered, his lips quivering as the hand holding his gun was then raised to his own brow.

A second later he joined Warren Vidic on the floor.

The gunshots echoed after that, tearing apart the air as each and every guard present in the room turned on one another and killed both each other and then themselves. The carnage was absolute – and Desmond felt as if he had come face to face with a horrific car crash… something in which he _wanted_ to look away from, he _wanted_ to try and ignore and forget… but no matter how hard he _did_ try, he couldn't. The Apple ceased glowing, and it became a seemingly harmless metal object once more, its weight no longer heavy in Desmond's hand as the last man fell bleeding and splattering the ground with brain matter.

He exhaled sharply, as if the Apple had physically sapped the breath from his lungs and only now returned it. He made to stow it back in his bag, but Clay placed a warning hand on his.

"We might need it later," he reminded him, though it was clear that Clay looked just as disconcerted as Desmond. He was shaken up, both physically and mentally. His words were dry as they tumbled from his lips, like he was a man dying of thirst. His hand was trembling. Both their hands were. Looking into each other's eyes now it was clear that neither of them would be able to forget this horrifying memory any time soon. And Vidic had wanted this Apple so badly? Desmond was starting to feel glad that it _was_ in the assassins' possession after all.

That reminded him…

He looked down at the remains of the man in question.

_Warren Vidic…_

It was a sorry sight he made. He felt sick to the stomach as he strode past the corpse. No doubt killing Vidic would only put a mere scratch on the face of Abstergo and its plans, but still… he had played a significant part in this whole dilemma from the very start. Desmond felt no pity. No remorse. Nor did he feel especially content. If anything, he felt glad that he'd finally taken _some_ action against the man after all that he had put both himself and Clay through. It didn't feel his death would ever truly make up for the torment he had caused them, but for now it would be enough.

Clay fell back to look at the remains of the man as Desmond continued onwards to where his father lay silent and bound on the chair. He reached down after depositing the Apple on the nearby desk, and he bent over to untie the bonds keeping William's hands tied behind his back. The man's face was an emotionless mask, and as Desmond stood back to offer his father a faint smile, he knew that what had transpired here tonight would only be the beginning. William was livid. He was enraged. He knew about Clay, and he'd just witnessed Desmond carelessly massacring the entire room and potentially threatening the whole delicate operation by bringing the Apple of Eden into the direct vicinity of the Templars in the first place.

Desmond would be lucky if he'd live to see tomorrow. With a sinking heart and a swelling of anger directed towards his dad, he knew that Clay would be in the same position. Sure enough, the older man's eyes bore every indication that a storm was brewing inside their light blue turbulent depths. Both assassins would have to start saying their prayers, and start saying them soon.

"Dad, I—"

"You _never_ should have come here," William spat, standing up and rubbing his arms. Desmond could hear footsteps and he knew that Clay was approaching cautiously, ready to provide some kind of aid should things go south. "You put everything on the line – for what? So you could rescue your father?!"

Desmond couldn't speak for a moment – his mind overrun by a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Firstly, he was frustrated at his father's blatant disregard for what he and Clay had done for him. Secondly, he was scared of the lecture, the arguments and the beatings that would surely follow once they all returned to the temple. And lastly… he was haunted by the thought that he had had to rescue him in the first place. If only that had never happened… then this might have gone down with a happy ending.

"I… yeah…" He couldn't offer any more than that. His voice sounded dry, raspy. He couldn't even _look_ at the man and that only added to the frustration he was already feeling. William didn't respond immediately. It looked like he was battling the thought of hitting his son or hugging him.

He did neither.

He strode right past him without another word. Desmond felt a cold weight settle over his shoulders.

"Bill, I—"

William rounded on Clay, barely giving the man any chance to finish off his words. The look in his eyes was murderous. He didn't say anything, but his meaning couldn't have been clearer: _Don't you dare speak to me._

He then strode off, growling a harsh command for them to follow him.

The two assassins were left standing there, watching the retreating figure of William Miles as he walked away, not once looking back. The room felt cold. Empty. Desmond closed his eyes and exhaled shakily, bowing his head.

He grit his teeth and he fought the urge to swing his fist back and punch the desk. The only thing stopping him from doing so was the fact that they had to get out of there. So he picked up the Apple and the glowing blue power source that lay neatly nestled there behind the laptop, his grip painfully tight around both artefacts as he opened his bag and deposited the power source before zipping the bag closed again. And that was when he looked up at Clay.

And the look in the blond's eyes damn near broke his heart.

Clay was gazing at the ground, his lips pursed together in a thin line. And in his eyes was a sadness, a pain, an intense self-loathing that Desmond knew was something all-too familiar to the blond – he'd been in this situation before, with his own father. And just when it finally looked like he was able to let the past go, it came crashing down around him once again, drowning him whole and leaving him helpless, worthless… plagued by the cruel reminder that all he ever did was disappoint.

Desmond knew the feeling well.

He looked down, and he realised that Clay's hand was still resting atop his own. Almost without thinking he tightened his hold, lacing his fingers through the blond's own. Clay blinked then, slowly lifting his head and fixing reddened eyes on the brunet beside him. He tried to say something, to apologise or to simply thank him, he didn't know… but Desmond didn't require an answer. All he wanted Clay to know was that he never blamed him for any of this. It wasn't his fault.

His hand was warm against his own, a remarkable contrast to how cold the room felt. It was a source of comfort to him, perhaps the only comfort that Desmond realised he had left in that moment and vice versa. And perhaps it was that knowledge that allowed Clay to fix a faint smile on his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes.

He gave Desmond's hand a light squeeze of gratitude, and Desmond tugged him forwards, getting the man to follow him as he prepared to leave.

They didn't say anything, but as they walked out of Vidic's office, neither of them could avoid the knowledge that as soon as they crossed those double doors… the end of the world would have _nothing_ on the wrath of William Miles.

* * *

Not one single word had been spoken from the time it had taken to reach the airfield to the time it had then taken to eventually land back home, the three assassins disembarking the jet to be met with Shaun waiting somewhat impatiently for them by the van.

It had been a long night, and it was made even longer by the overwhelming silence which had fallen across the group. Desmond had slept uneasily on the flight, his mind wracked by the thoughts plaguing him of what he would have to say, what he would have to do to ensure that William didn't skin both himself and Clay alive.

Clay on the other hand had taken to gazing out the window, looking hapless and defeated. It was almost like his face had taken on a gaunt appearance, as he was so withdrawn from everything around him. William made sure to sit far away from the both of them, instead spending his time conversing with the pilot as they made their departure.

Then when they had eventually touched down back on American soil much the same thing occurred. Scrambling up into the van now, Desmond resisted the urge to upend the contents of his stomach on the van floor. He sat opposite Clay, the two men lost in their contemplations. William sat next to Shaun at the front. It looked like Shaun had been prepared to spark a conversation, no doubt to ask if everything had gone ok or to check to see if his mentor was alright all things considered, but he'd been cut off by William sharply barking at him to shut up and start driving.

So drive he did. For some reason it felt like more time had passed returning to the temple than it had on the flight over from Italy.

By the time they saw the familiar gaping maw of the cave entrance, Desmond knew that he could very well be walking straight towards his doom.

_Well, it's been a good life for the most part,_ he thought bitterly with a sigh as they jumped out of the van. _I've accomplished stuff… had a good job in New York for a while…_ he looked over at Clay.

_Made some really good friends…_

He bit back a groan when William strode past him, pushing him along none-too gently as he ordered his son to hurry up and get inside. He didn't move immediately, merely stumbling along to a stop and glaring daggers at the man who decided he couldn't be bothered waiting out here for any longer than was necessary and had taken off in a hurry towards the cavern entrance. In fact Desmond made no move to follow until Clay had walked up next to him, the blond trying (and failing) to look considerably nonchalant about what lay ahead.

"You know he's going to be even more pissed off with you the longer you stay out here?"

Desmond nodded, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"We're doing this together or not at all."

Clay looked at him. It was clear he wanted to argue those words, to not let Desmond bear the brunt of William's wrath for something that was the blond's own fault, but the look of steadfast determination in Desmond's eyes as he gazed at the cave entrance told Clay that the man couldn't – and _wouldn't_ – be swayed into thinking otherwise.

So he sighed. And he nodded.

The temple was just as cold as Desmond remembered it being when they entered, and it was then that he realised just how much he missed the outside already. He'd barely had any time to appreciate the sunrises and sunsets he'd seen out the jet windows, nor the warm evening breeze that had gusted through the carpark when they had first arrived at the Abstergo headquarters. He found he wanted to go back in time, just for a moment, so that he could fully appreciate what it was he'd missed out on.

At least it would allow him to put off the inevitable for a moment longer.

Sliding down the lower half of the tunnel when he was met with the steep decline that greeted him, he straightened back up and dusted himself off. He saw Rebecca standing by the tunnel entrance, waiting for them. He didn't know how long she'd been there, but she offered him a faint – though pained – smile when he passed her by. He tried to return it, he honestly did… but he couldn't. She seemed to understand though, no doubt guessing by William's foul mood that something was up.

She stepped back to allow them to pass by, and no sooner had he and Clay landed their feet on the firm temple floor had William spun around and fixed enraged eyes on the pair of them.

"What the _HELL_ IS GOING ON HERE?!"

They winced, neither man wanting to particularly explain themselves when William was going off his head. Rebecca stepped forwards, holding her hands out.

"Bill—"

"QUIET, REBECCA!" He snapped. She froze, her eyes narrowing. Shaun cleared his throat, stepping forwards and pulling the woman back. She looked like she was about to protest further when William cut her off again, rounding on Clay.

"What Vidic said in his office… is that true?!" He hissed. Clay looked uncomfortable.

"I—"

" _IS IT TRUE?!_ "

Silence rang out around the temple. Everyone's eyes were on the blond, Clay unable to do anything in that moment save glance around and see how they were staring… he swallowed the dry lump in his throat, suddenly feeling short of breath.

He nodded. Beside him he felt Desmond take a step closer, no doubt waiting to step in. Clay would have smiled then, if he could have.

William on the other hand stared wide-eyed at the blond like he'd just come out and personally punched him in the face. He was deathly quiet for a long time. Almost _too_ long. Clay resisted the urge to shrink away under his mentor's cold gaze. When he finally _did_ speak, however… Clay almost wished that William was still yelling. The quietness of his voice, the man sounding so eerily calm and focused… it sent unpleasant chills rushing through his spine.

"How long?"

When he didn't get an immediate answer, William took a step forwards, his eyes narrowed.

"How long has this been going on? How and _when_ did you think, 'Clay', that _impersonating_ _Mark was a fucking good idea?!_ "

"Bill—"

"Dad—" Desmond quickly interrupted, cutting across Shaun who'd tried to butt in. William wasn't having any of it.

" _I'm asking him!_ " He hissed, throwing a finger in Clay's direction. Clay's hands clenched by his sides.

"I didn't—"

" _Out_ with it already—"

" _DAD!_ " William glared at his son, Desmond having yelled over his father. He matched the older man's glare with one of his own, no less heated or agitated. He made sure that William's eyes were locked on his own – giving him his full undivided attention.

"It was me."

Clay's jaw dropped. Both Shaun and Rebecca elicited soft gasps. Desmond ignored them all for the sake of continuing to make sure that William didn't dare look away from him. He wanted his words to ring out, to echo in that deadly silence that settled once more over the temple.

After what seemed a lifetime, the first glimmers of emotion crept into William's emotionless stare. His eyes began to swim, as if pooling with an indescribable torrent of anger, confusion…

"What?"

Desmond exhaled sharply.

"I was the one who helped him get out of the animus. I gave him Mark's body – that day at the hospital. It wasn't Juno. It was me."

He felt a hand on his arm and he knew it to be Clay's; he shot him a quick reassuring smile before turning his attention back to his father. William gazed hardly at him.

" _Why_?" He choked out. "How is that even… why did you—"

"He helped me when I needed it the most. I was returning the favour. I…" Desmond trailed off for a moment, clearing his throat a little before continuing. "I owed it to him."

From the corner of his eye he could see the faintest smile form on Clay's lips, and Desmond felt a small swell of pride. It didn't last, though. William made sure of that.

"Owed it to him?" He echoed. "How is taking over someone's body _owing it to him?!"_

Desmond groaned.

"Dad, I—"

"Do you even know what you've done?!"

"DAD—"

"SHUT UP!" William yelled, and he reached out to stride within a foot's distance from Clay, their faces mere inches apart as he stared him down. Clay was trying to keep a brave face - tried to stand his ground, but the way he swallowed thickly and the way his fingers twitched at his sides gave away his discomfort in all its entirety. But William didn't seem to want to yell at him again, nor did he even indicate that he was going to attempt to strike the man where he stood. Instead he merely held those blue eyes in a calculating stare, and when he spoke up again... his voice was just as quiet as it had been before. It was impossible to tell what was going through his head... and that's what unnerved them the most.

"You've been parading around wearing Mark's skin like your own..." William began, his eyes now narrowing once more. "I don't even know where I should begin... how else do you think I'm supposed to react to hearing something like this?! By all accounts I should throw you outside, but for the sake of trying to remain _civil_ here... do you have _any_ idea what—"

"Bill, I really don't see the issue here…" Everyone turned to look at Shaun, who'd finally found his opportunity to continue with what he'd been trying to say earlier on. He looked from one person to the next, his eyes finally landing on Clay's. "He's done nothing but help us since Desmond woke up from that coma. We wouldn't even be where we are now if it weren't for him."

Desmond stared at him, almost unable to believe his ears. Clay was having much the same reaction, and the small smile of gratitude that crossed his lips was returned by Shaun, who offered the man a curt nod.

While William had fallen silent, evidently trying to process this information, Rebecca took the chance to say a few words of her own.

"It's true, Bill," she added, softly though as if worried that a single raised tone of her voice would set the man off again. "Ever since Desmond woke up from that coma I've seen how Clay's been helping him along… and honestly I'm glad that Desmond was able to give him a body back. He deserves it after all the shit that's happened. I mean sure, I may have been scared about it at first when I learnt what Desmond was going to do, but… I was wrong." She smiled at him, clapping the blond on the shoulder. Clay was once again at a loss for words, and Desmond felt like he could have almost wrapped his arms around the woman and hugged her right then and there. She caught him staring and she gave him a smile, too.

William however didn't look convinced. Rather, he stared at the technician.

"What do you mean when you first learnt about it…?"

Rebecca froze, as did everyone else. A few seconds went by, and the woman's face quickly fell. She shuffled nervously on the spot, but it was too late. William had already put two and two together.

"You _knew_ about this?!" He exclaimed, words finishing with a despairing groan. Rebecca bit her lip nervously.

"Well, I—"

"Did you know about this too?" He glared at Shaun. The Brit blinked, his bespectacled eyes darting from one person to the next yet again.

"Not until recently…" He mumbled lowly. Desmond and Clay shared a look. Shaun apparently must have guessed what they were thinking because he explained himself. "Your microphones were switched on when you were in Abstergo… Becs and I heard the whole thing between you and Cross…" He trailed off.

It took a split second for those words to register themselves in Desmond's head. And then he groaned.

_That would explain everything_ , he thought bitterly. The way that Rebecca had sounded so hesitant to talk to them after they'd gotten out of that warehouse…

He heard a shallow laugh from behind him and he cast Clay another sidelong glance. The blond looked like he was seriously debating whether or not to punch the nearby wall. Desmond didn't blame him.

"You mean to say…" William sighed, and then eyes turned back to him, fixing him with their frightened gazes, "that the _both_ of you knew about this… and didn't bother to _tell me about it?"_

"Well you were in Vidic's office at the time—"

"That's no excuse! You should have come to me about this _before_ you attempted to give him that body!" He interrupted Shaun again, his eyes finding Desmond's once more. "We could have found another way which wouldn't have resulted in... in _this!_ "

That time everyone really _did_ look at a loss for words. Clay locked eyes on Desmond, the both of them by now feeling utterly confused.

_What?_

The silence lasted only a moment, though. Clay at last found his voice, feeling his shock quickly give way to anger - anger and irritation as he lifted a hand and ran a palm over his face, sucking in a sharp breath.

"Can we stop talking about me like I'm not even here?" He started, his tone giving away his ire in all its entirety as he dropped his hand and fixed William with a sharp glare. "Look, I know you're trying to curb your rage Bill, but it's a bit too late for all this, don't you think?" Try as he might, he couldn't fully mask the anger that gripped at his words, causing him to raise his voice steadily louder with each passing second. He'd thrown his hands up, looking incredulous as he continued to hold his mentor's gaze.

"Desmond didn't need to help me get out of the animus. But he did. And you know what? To do that he had to put up with me camping up in his brain for a whole fucking week! You honestly think there was another way for me to grab myself a physical, walking, talking form _without_ running him into the ground because of all that extra data in his brain?! No! There _wasn't!_ This was the _only_ way, William! So I chose to find myself another body because _I couldn't do that to him!_ So I'm _sorry_ that you have so many fucking issues with this!"

Another bitter laugh fell from his lips.

"I'm sorry that I'm trying to help everyone live through the _god-fucking-damned end of the world, here!"_

Desmond placed a hand on his shoulder. Clay didn't shake it off, but he did continue to ignore him.

"I'm _SORRY_ that I'm trying to help your son because _you've got your head stuck too far up your own ass to do it yourself!_ "

That comment visibly made William take a step back, and William Miles was _never_ a man to back away from something. Desmond tightened his hold on Clay's shoulder, silently warning him to be careful. This wouldn't end well. He didn't want Clay to end up getting hurt by this... or worse.

"And I'm really, _really_ sorry that me wearing some other guy's body is such an inconvenience for you, but in case you didn't realise – NEWSFLASH! My body is _SIX FEET UNDER RIGHT NOW!_ So unless you want to help me go dig it back up, I'M GOING TO STAY WHERE I AM THANKS!"

He fell silent, evidently waiting for William's response. If he felt intimidated by the blank look on William's face, he didn't show it. All of Clay's internal turmoil was masked flawlessly by the sheer anger written upon his face now. Desmond couldn't ever recall seeing him looking like that before. And upon that realisation he also discovered that he'd been holding his breath while all this had been taking place.

"No…" William shook his head. The others exchanged wary glances.

"Excuse me?" Clay asked, none too kindly. William gave a coarse chuckle.

"You just don't understand, do you?" He whispered. "This isn't about Desmond. This isn't about the end of the world. This is about our creed, about our Brotherhood itself! Do you have _any_ idea what you've done to that poor kid's life?!" He gestured to Mark's body. "If you'd found some other way to come back that would have been fine. But you didn't. Oh you may have thought it through to some extent, yes, as far as getting yourself a walking, talking physical form goes – but did you stop to think just _once_ about the consequences of your actions?! That kid has a _family_ , Clay! He has a job, a home, a life worth _living_ outside the Brotherhood! And he can't go back to that now, can he? Because you've taken all that he had and _used it for your own selfish gain!"_

Clay remained silent, his angry glare matching William's own as the two stared each other down. When he finally did speak, he managed to sound remarkably calm, given the circumstance he found himself in.

"Are you saying that I never had any of these things either?" A cold smile crossed his lips. "Because believe it or not I'm more than just a number, Bill. Crazy I know, right? Who would have thought that Subject Sixteen was a _normal fucking guy who had a life before being thrown into a computer?!_ " He gestured around, to Shaun, Rebecca, and then lastly Desmond.

"Just a normal fucking guy who was given a second chance when he never deserved it in the first place! A normal fucking guy who was given a _family_ again! You're acting like I have no regrets about taking over Mark's body. I do. Every waking minute of every single fucking day I regret _everything_ that's happened to make me this way, William. D'you think I honestly _enjoy_ this?! I don't! And in case you forgot, Mark was in a _coma_ when we got to that hospital! For _TWO YEARS._ Not _once_ did his 'family' come visit him. Any look at the records would tell you that! He was left alone without anyone to call his own. So don't you _dare_ go telling me that I've ruined his life when he was _EXACTLY_ what I was when I was still kicking!"

He looked like he was about to continue, but William cut him off much like how he had done with Shaun; he raised a hand, and immediately Clay was drawn to silence.

"Rebecca, get the animus set up."

The woman took a step back.

"Why?" She asked warily.

"Do as I say!" William muttered. "We're going to pull him out of Mark's body."

"WHAT?!" Desmond gaped. Clay cussed sharply, shaking his head and trying to suck in a calming breath as his hands rose to grip at his forehead.

"Bill you're taking this too far," Shaun narrowed his eyes.

"It won't work…" Clay added, chuckling drily. William fixed him another glare.

"Shaun trying to defend you? You're damn _right_ it won't work—"

"No, I mean… with the animus it… it won't work…" Clay continued, hoarsely now. He dropped his hands from his face. He looked tired. Conflicted.

Scared.

It didn't bother William any.

"We're putting you in the animus—"

"It _won't work,_ Bill!"

"Don't make me drag you out of Mark's body myself—"

"Bill, _listen to me,_ PLEASE!"

"We're _going to find you some other way to come back_ —"

"MARK LANDERS IS DEAD!"

There was an abrupt silence, William's eyes slowly widening as Clay's outburst seemed to echo around the temple walls. He was panting, shaking his head and taking a step back to rub his eyes. When Clay finally looked back at everyone again, it was to see their gazes trained intently on him, demanding an explanation. He shook his head again.

"Clay…?"

He smiled bitterly, finally looking at Desmond. The look on the younger man's face was one he never wanted to see again – the realisation in those deep brown eyes, and the slow but sure betrayal that surfaced within them. He took another step back. And then another.

"I'm so sorry…" He whispered, more so to Desmond than to anyone else. "I was going to tell you…"

Desmond simply stared at him.

"What do you mean?" He asked. His voice was quiet… level… Clay knew better than anyone that that flat, low tone indicated only one thing – Desmond was angry. He was disappointed. He was everything that Clay didn't ever want him to be.

He threw his hands up in desperation and began to pace back and forth. Well, there was no going back now. He'd let it slip and he was just going to have to pay for it. He glanced at the animus. He wished he could lie down…

"He died when I took control… that… that thing that happened at the hospital… it wasn't me you lost. It was him." He didn't even bother to look at anyone as he spoke, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on the animus. "He was going to die anyway, I… I just wanted to get to him before it could happen."

He closed his eyes and he could hear someone take a step back. Desmond, no doubt.

"You told me you were going to save him… you _told_ me, Clay…" He sounded hurt, confused… scared…

Clay felt sick.

"Sometimes to save people you have to let them go…" His words were so quiet he didn't think anyone could hear them. But Desmond did. Of course he did.

"He's telling the truth…" Clay looked up then, meeting Rebecca's gaze. The woman was staring at Desmond, looking just as conflicted as Clay did. "It was on Mark's file, Desmond… he didn't have long to live…"

Desmond shook his head.

"No it wasn't…"

Clay smiled bitterly.

"It was." Desmond shot him a sharp glare. Clay could already feel his stomach churning – a minute longer and he really _would_ be sick. "I didn't want you to know… I knew you'd be against it… I… forced you to look away from that entry in the file when you were reading it… all it took was a little willpower, and you wouldn't need to see a thing…"

He should have kept quiet. He should have. He _knew_ he should have. But of course he had to put the icing on the metaphorical-fucking-cake.

Desmond didn't say anything. He didn't even blink.

But what he _did_ do… was walk away.

Just like that. No words of contempt, no nothing. He just turned around and left. And in that moment Clay realised just how alone he really was, here in this temple. He could feel the gazes on him, both accusatory and saddened. He closed his eyes, rubbing them with his hands again. He felt the need to scream, to yell, to do _something_ destructive.

And he sure as hell didn't want to be here anymore.

"Wow…"

Clay grit his teeth, shooting Shaun a scathing glance as he pulled his hands away from his face again. He ignored Rebecca walking slowly up to him, patting him as comfortingly as she could on his shoulder. Clay didn't look at her, not even showing any sign that he appreciated the support she was trying to give him. Suddenly none of that mattered.

"You should have known better than this," William grunted, his eyes still cold as he looked at the blond.

Clay kept his gaze steady as he looked at his mentor.

"I should have known a lot of things." And that was all he said. He lightly shoved Rebecca's hand off his shoulder, taking the opportunity to turn around and leave, shoving his hands angrily into his pockets. He needed to clear his head. He needed a moment to himself.

He knew he was the last person that Desmond wanted to talk to right now, so he did the only thing he _could_ do – and that was head off to the showers. Try to clean the rest of the blood away, douse his head in the water and hopefully manage to not drown himself as much as he was seriously contemplating it at this current moment in time.

He'd wait a few hours.

Hopefully by then Desmond would be willing to talk to him, and he could start trying to fix this goddamn mess he'd made.

* * *

Two hours had passed (Clay had made sure of that) before he'd re-emerged from the spring that doubled as the shower in the temple. He'd spent a while lost in his own thoughts as he washed the blood and grime from his skin, wincing every so often when he'd brushed a hand over a bruise here, or the cold water splashed against a raw cut there. His arms were particularly well-marked from the violence that had sprung forth in Abstergo, and he idly studied the angry-looking purple blemishes across his pale skin as he pulled his shirt back over his head, before taking a moment to brush locks of his damp hair out of his eyes.

Then he inhaled slowly, held his breath, and tried to take stock as best he could before walking back out to the temple halls. The first thing he noticed as he walked the darkened corridors was that upon coming out into the sanctum the place was deserted, the others having apparently seen fit to retire to their rooms. Glancing at his watch he discovered the reason why - it was well into the night and the time was nearing eleven in the evening.

For one moment he thought that maybe Desmond might have gone to get some rest too. In fact some small, concealed part of him was _hoping_ that would be the case - but he knew better. Desmond would still be up. And he would still be waiting for an explanation.

_Better not keep him waiting I suppose..._

The bitter pangs of irony tore at his heart as he began the long walk to their shared room, Clay only now realising that no matter how eager he may have been earlier on to try and talk to Desmond about this, when it finally eventually came down to it he would get cold feet and he'd be hoping that he could somehow wheedle himself out of it, if at least for another minute or so. He sighed heavily, holding his breath again the closer he drew down the corridor. Truth be told, he hadn't even stopped to take note of where Desmond had walked off to earlier on - but he knew regardless. He vaguely mused that this was perhaps a result of getting to know the man so well over the course of the two months that they'd gotten out of the animus.

For once he was feeling grateful that the walls around him seemed to swallow sound the closer he approached the chipped and cracked archway that led into their quarters.

He'd only taken one step through the door when he was stopped, his lips pulling into a thin smile - humourless and dry - as he beheld the sight of Desmond simply lying back on the stone that had become a bed over the course of the past couple of months. The man was merely scrolling through his phone, the backlight casting a dim light across his face as brown eyes darted to and fro over whatever it was he was looking at. The silence remained thick and heavy the longer Clay stood there, saying not a word, but he knew that Desmond was only far too aware of his presence.

Brown eyes shot up then, calmly meeting Clay's face as Desmond placed his phone down. He sighed.

"So when were you gonna tell me?" His voice was quiet, tired. Clay couldn't blame him - he was feeling exhausted himself.

"I don't know."

Desmond nodded, folding his arms behind his head as Clay took a step closer.

"Hey, I get it," he began, catching Clay's attention at that, the blond arching an eyebrow at Desmond's unexpected tone. He didn't sound angry... rather he simply sounded... accepting. Understanding. He narrowed his eyes, not sure whether or not he'd rather have him yell at him right about now. "Just one more thing to not want to worry my ass off about, yeah?" Desmond's scarred lips pulled into a faint grin.

It was Clay's turn to sigh again.

"Look, Desmond, if you're gonna yell at me or... call me out on all the shit I've caused you, you might as well stop fucking around and do it now—"

"I'm not going to do anything."

Clay froze at that, snapping his head back up to glare incredulously at the younger man. Desmond shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't care."

"... Come again?"

Desmond rolled his eyes, rubbing a palm over his face.

"I don't care, Clay," he repeated, his voice sounding muffled by his hand. "I'm past caring." His hand drew back down to his side. When he looked at the blond, Clay saw the weariness in his eyes, the absolute admission in his gaze that told him that he wasn't simply making this up. He really _was_ beyond caring at this point in time.

Clay didn't know whether to be relieved or concerned. So he did the only thing he _could_ do in that moment. He forced a laugh, groaning and rubbing his brow before striding over to his bed and sitting down, burying his head in his hands lightly for a moment. Another heavy silence fell over the pair until Clay was the one to break it.

"It's so fucked up..." He muttered under his breath, knowing that Desmond would hear him anyway despite how quiet his words were. "All of this..."

"You think?" Desmond answered, throwing the blond a pointed look as he turned his head to glance at him. Clay chuckled drily, pulling his hands away and crossing them over his lap. There was another brief pause, within which Clay was trying to muster the courage to speak, to say everything that was on his mind. There was one thing in particular that had bothered him when he'd taken his leave from the others earlier on... but sitting here with Desmond now, he realised that if he dared voice those thoughts, he would be walking on thin ice indeed.

Thankfully Desmond had distracted him for a while, seeing as he'd spoken up - his voice breaking the silence as he sat up and leant his legs over the side of the stone bed, his fingers loosely curling in his lap.

"I appreciate it though..." He began. Clay blinked, lifting his head slowly to fix wary eyes on him. A distant expression crossed Desmond's face. "You know, not wanting to tell me... I mean there's been so many... crazy, absolute batshit things going on right now and if you'd told me that earlier I probably would've... I dunno..." He shrugged. Clay managed a faint smile.

"Flipped out at me more than Bill?" He offered. Desmond gave a pained grin.

"Maybe."

Clay gave another dry chuckle, a humourless smile pulling at his lips as he looked down to see his hands clenched into fists over his lap. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled slowly. Now or never. Better to get this out of the way before everything else went wrong tonight.

"I think... William had a point..." He began cautiously, chancing a look up at Desmond to carefully gauge his reaction. The man blinked, confusion now evident in his gaze as he narrowed his eyes at the blond.

"What do you mean?"

Clay shrugged.

"I dunno, I... took a moment for myself to think about it after you left and... I wonder if it really would've been better if I'd just... stayed in there..." He muttered. He didn't need to specify where 'there' was. They both knew exactly what he was referring to. The animus.

He heard movement from beside him and he found himself lifting his head as Desmond rose upwards, standing and striding away as he gripped at his hair and clutched it tightly within his fingers.

"Oh no..." He began, sounding hoarse as he fixed a sharp glare at the man behind him, surprising Clay momentarily with the sudden swift change in emotion. "No, you are _not_ saying this to me right now—"

"Desmond...?" Clay inquired quietly, feeling his throat now start to constrict in on itself as Desmond paced to and fro in front of him. He slowly rose from his seat, the steady pooling of dread in his stomach letting him know that he'd finally pushed the man too far over in saying that. If Desmond was angry with him before... it was _nothing_ to what he was feeling now.

_Here we go..._

He steeled himself. Whatever Desmond threw at him he could take. He'd have to. It was all his fault, anyway.

"I can handle you lying to my face and not bothering to tell me shit about Mark, but _this_ —" Desmond threw his hands up, fixing his despaired gaze directly on Clay, that look in his eyes almost stopping Clay's heart. He took a step back. And then another. Until his back was to the wall. Desmond didn't seem to care - in fact it only seemed to fuel him further, his anger intensifying by the second.

"Do you really think so lowly of yourself?!" He hissed, sounding incredulous. Clay swallowed thickly, barely getting a word in before Desmond cut him off again. "I did _not_ risk my fucking neck getting you off that Island just to have you _do this to me, Clay!_ "

"Well what do you want me to say, Des?!" Clay fired back, feeling his ire slowly take hold, replacing the guilt as he glared back at the younger man before him. "All I've ever done is—"

"All you've ever done is _help me_!" Desmond cried out, taking a step closer and fixing wide brown eyes on the man before him. "If you think everything you've done has amounted to nothing then forget William dragging you out of that body - I'm going to fucking _do it myself!_ You're the closest fucking friend I have here! You've done nothing but _break your fucking back_ trying to help me sort this shit out about the end of the world! If it wasn't for you I would have gone crazy a long time ago - you're practically the only thing keeping me _grounded_ here and you decide to just throw that all away and say you should have _stayed in that god-fucking-damned animus instead?!_ ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO YOURSELF RIGHT NOW?!" He ran a hand over his face, taking in sharp, deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. It wasn't working. Clay's throat felt dry, his hands twitching faintly by his sides as he swallowed thickly again and tried his hardest to keep looking at the younger man.

He heard Desmond's words, he _knew_ what he was saying and at any other time he would have been flattered as all hell but... but now...

"Look, Desmond…" He managed to get out, his voice sounding cracked, dry, "I know why you're upset, but just listen to me for a sec—"

Desmond had stopped in his tracks and he'd turned to glare darkly at the blond again, Clay's words dying from his throat immediately. Desmond took another step closer now, and then another… all the while a humourless smile crossing his scarred lips. He looked angry. Much angrier in fact than he had been a few moments ago.

"Oh you do, do you? You know _exactly_ why I'm upset?" He hissed the words out, throwing as much venom as he could behind them. He hoped they stung, he _wanted_ Clay to know just how much this whole fucking thing was hurting him. Clay remained standing where he stood. Desmond took another step closer.

Clay knew it was coming – but he didn't bother fighting it. He'd given up. He grunted lowly in dull pain when Desmond fisted his hand in his shirt collar and had pushed him back further against the wall, his teeth grit as he glared at the older man before him. Clay's head was pounding lightly from where it had knocked against the stone behind him, but he didn't pay any attention to that. He couldn't anyway, not when Desmond was yelling in his face.

"Put yourself in my shoes!" He cried out. "I go to save someone's sorry ass from the animus, let him camp up in my head for a couple of weeks, get him a body only to discover later on that Abstergo was hiding out apparently _waiting_ for that to happen – we've been chased almost non-stop since we've been here, we've had to risk our very _lives_ getting three fucking damned batteries for this god-fucking-damned temple, Juno's constantly in my head, William got fucking captured, he _found out about you and was threatening to essentially kill you_ , and NOW I have to put up with you feeling sorry for yourself because you want to just take him up on that offer because you somehow got it into your head _that that's what you fucking deserve!_ Oh, and to top it all off – THE WORLD IS GOING TO END IN LESS THAN ONE FUCKING WEEK!"

He was panting, almost yelling himself hoarse. He tightened his grip around Clay's shirt collar. Clay winced, but he made no reply. Instead he gazed calmly at the man before him, waiting for all this to blow over. Apparently that only infuriated Desmond more, if the way he was looking at him now was anything to go by.

"Do you get where I'm coming from with this, Clay?! I'm breaking down over here – everyone wants all these impossible things from me, they want me to… to save the fucking planet, they want me to keep heading back into that fucking animus to find some fucking key that probably doesn't even _exist_ anymore… and then… then… you just…" He growled, trailing off and waving his free hand in the air as if to emphasise the point he couldn't make with words.

Clay sighed then, and he tilted his head back against the wall.

"Are you going to hit me?" He asked quietly. That question took Desmond by surprise, and his grip around his collar lessened ever so slightly.

"You deserve it," he muttered. But he didn't do anything other than that. Seeing that he had the man's attention for at least a little bit longer, Clay resumed speaking.

"Alright, you wanna know why I said that? It was because of _you_ , Desmond. You think I don't know what's going on around here? I've been here since day one with you. So firstly, don't fucking talk to me like I haven't got a fucking _clue_ what's been happening, alright?!" He rose his own voice now, sounding impatient. He lifted his hand and wrenched Desmond's fist free from his shirt.

"Everything's been going to hell around us and the _last_ thing I wanted was to get you angry and off your head because your fucking father found out about me. Don't you see how toxic this all is?! Everything I've done... I should have stayed in that fucking animus because I can't fucking take the thought that it's all going to go to waste because Bill's going to shove me back in there! Call me selfish if you like, I don't fucking care. But what I _do_ care about, is making sure that you have as little to worry about on top of everything else as possible! So if that means me getting taken out of the picture, then so be it! We're almost at the end here - I've done all I can and there's nothing much else I _can_ do! I _know_ you're breaking down over this, Desmond! Don't talk to me like I'm some five year old kid who doesn't know _shit_ about life! I've been through more than you ever will, and I've seen it all. I _don't_ want to see it happen all over again… and _especially_ _not to you!"_

Desmond blinked, his brows creasing as he took a slow step back.

"Why do you care so much about how I feel?"

That question took Clay off guard, and just like that the anger in his eyes faded. His lips moved like he was about to speak, but he stopped. He found he didn't really have an answer for that. He looked at the ground.

"I… don't know." It was true. He didn't. Desmond looked at him for a moment, and then his lips pulled into a thin smile. He reached up and rubbed his forehead, sighing as he turned away again.

"… So is that it?"

Desmond looked at the man over his shoulder, his brows furrowing at Clay's inquiry. Clay straightened up, idly rubbing his neck from where the faint burn of his collar still remained after Desmond had practically wrenched it forwards.

"Is that what?" Desmond queried.

"Well I originally came here to check up on your sorry ass and tried my best to give you my damn apology, didn't I?" Clay muttered. "You're clearly not gonna take it, and I understand that. I'm not expecting you to. But for fuck's sake Des at least say _something_ useful instead of turning away from me when I finally _do_ give you an explanation!"

"Something useful?" Desmond took a step closer. "I'm sorry – hasn't anything I just said over the past ten minutes alone been _useful?"_

Clay winced again.

"Ok, well… yeah but—"

"You didn't apologise to me, Clay. But you know what? I don't want an apology. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of everything. I want something _normal_ in my life, you know? If only just for _five fucking seconds_ …" He'd taken another step closer.

"You said it was just you in there, right?" He indicated Mark's body. Clay paused, frowning a little as he slowly nodded.

"That's what I said, wasn't it?" He didn't know where this was going. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to know.

"Well considering you apparently want to go ahead and jump ship tomorrow morning I just had to check," Desmond hissed. He was directly in front of him now. Clay felt his brow twitch.

"Miles, get your fucking head out of your ass!" He snapped.

"I'll do that when the world stops falling to pieces!" Desmond snapped back. Clay laughed – a low, bitter sound.

"It's going to end in a _week_ , Desmond!"

"Well I guess I'd better go and _save_ it then, yeah?" Desmond was yelling now.

"Why don't you?!" Clay yelled right back. Desmond slammed his left hand against the wall right next to Clay's head, his right hand fisting in his collar yet again.

"WHY DON'T _YOU?!_ "

And before Clay could react, before he could even blanch in cold horror at what he'd said to the man in front of him, Desmond had crushed their lips firmly together, sealing Clay's mouth in a hot, angry kiss.

Clay's eyes widened and he froze, momentarily stunned into complete silence. And then the realisation sunk in. At first, he tried to grapple with Desmond, tried to push him off. His hands had quickly gripped at his shoulders, palms flat against him as he made to pull away. But he couldn't. He groaned, unable to do anything in that moment except feel Desmond's mouth press insistently closer against his, if that was even possible.

His lips were warm. Warm and surprisingly soft. He didn't remember much about how they felt when he'd first kissed him back in Brazil, but now that he was able to take a moment here…

_No._

He growled low in his throat and his hands tightened painfully around Desmond's shoulders. This needed to stop. And he was going to stop it now.

Desmond felt Clay's hands dig in warningly around his shoulders, but he didn't care. He needed to get the man to shut up, and in that moment he'd done the first thing that had crossed his mind. He'd kissed him. He didn't fucking know why, and he didn't fucking _want_ to do it… but at least he wasn't talking. At least he _had_ shut up. He'd meant it when he said he was sick and tired of it… of all the responsibility, all the threats just crashing down around him and making him lose his sanity bit by painful bit. He was angry, and he sure as hell wasn't planning on forgiving Clay any time soon. He heard the man growl scathingly under his breath again but Desmond didn't care; instead he crushed his lips more forcefully down on his hot mouth, moving now in some desperate, goddamn-fucking _rhythm_ for Christ's sake – what the hell was even going on anymore?! He didn't know.

But what he _did_ know, was that Clay had stopped trying to push him off. He wondered about that in the back of his head, the small part there that was currently screaming at him saying something was wrong.

_What_ isn't _wrong about this?_ He felt Clay's mouth begin to work in tandem over his own, slow at first… but now matching the movements that Desmond was providing. The hands on his shoulders fisted into his hair. Fingers tugged at short brown locks. Desmond groaned and wrapped both hands around Clay's shirt collar, pulling him forwards from the wall just enough so that he could cage his chest flush against his own.

And that's when he finally realised what was happening. They were honest-to-god actually _kissing_ , and what shudders of revulsion that threatened to flood through every inch of his body seemed to be quelled somewhat by the fact that this was probably the best Desmond had felt all fucking day. It wasn't like last time, where the fact that they were in plain sight had certainly put a damper on things. Not to mention Clay had outright done that completely out of _nowhere_ —

_Well… I kind of did this out of nowhere too,_ he reminded himself before he promptly told his brain to shut up. He felt the heat of Clay's body, felt their chests pressed firmly together, felt his hair being tugged and pulled as Clay's kiss-swollen lips crushed against his own, angry growls eliciting from his throat as Desmond sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down purely because he was still pissed off with him…

_Christ._

What was even _happening_ anymore?!

He felt, rather than heard, something that seemed like a barely suppressed groan falling from Clay's throat, and as their lips pressed together once more he finally managed to push Desmond off, his hands falling from his hair to shove sharply at his chest. They parted, panting and blinking, glancing at one another as if both in utter disbelief at what they'd just done.

And then the anger pooled in Clay's eyes, and he hissed sharply at the younger man before him.

"The _fucking hell_ are you playing at, Miles?!" His words were like poison. Desmond sneered at him.

"Why don't you ask the end of the fucking world, Clay? You'll get your answer then!" He threw his hands up. "The whole universe is falling to pieces here!"

"And _this_ is your idea of wanting something _normal_?!" Clay cried out incredulously. Desmond froze for half a second. Was that what he'd said earlier? Fragments of their previous conversation (if it could be called that) came back to mind, and he decided that yes, he had said that. He laughed drily.

"Well when you're going to die in a week anyway—" He countered, but he didn't get any chance to finish off his sentence. He didn't know if he'd moved in first or if it was Clay, but their mouths were suddenly pressed together once more, and as low, frustrated groans circled from their mouths their hands had moved to clasp tightly on shoulders, seize hips, wrap around necks and fist through hair. Desmond felt himself getting walked backwards, their legs a mistimed miscommunication of movement, the two of them almost tripping over one another in their efforts to move away from the wall. The damn thing was uncomfortable – with sharp cracks of stone jutting out everywhere.

Clay's mouth was hot, so damn hot and so very firm and Desmond felt himself going lightheaded from lack of oxygen but he didn't fucking care – he felt hands tug sharply at his hoodie, trying to fumble with the zip but Clay gave up and instead shoved his hands underneath the offending garment, and Desmond hissed as calloused palms pressed to the bare skin of his hips. He bit down on the corner of Clay's lip again, moving to plant heavy kisses against his jaw, abandoning the warmth of his mouth just for a moment as he clawed his hands down his back and dived for his throat, kissing quickly down the thick skin he was met with and feeling some smug sense of pride at the low groans Clay elicited in response.

"Don't expect this to mean anything," he growled, panting in-between each kiss he lay waste to on Clay's neck. Clay responded by snarling something scathing under his breath, gripping Desmond's hips and dragging his hands further up his chest, roughly tugging at the pebbled buds of his nipples and causing Desmond to yelp in pain.

"I'm not," he replied, his tone angry, violent, as he resumed paying attention to Desmond's chest, plunging his tongue inside Desmond's mouth as sharp payback for the man biting particularly forcefully against his neck and making him wince. Desmond's eyes widened and he groaned, Clay smirking at the fact that he wouldn't have the chance to say anything now that his tongue was firmly lodged between his lips, and he took the moment to suckle on the wet appendage he was greeted with before releasing Desmond's tongue and shoving him further backwards with a hard push of his hands.

Desmond stifled a cry as he stumbled, and soon he realised exactly what it was he fell hardly back against, a light grunt escaping him as the air was pushed from his lungs when his back gracelessly collided with the blankets laid out on the stone beds. He took the moment whilst Clay was distracted to blink, looking up at him and snarling as he gripped broad shoulders and flipped him over, Clay hissing as he found their weight shifting and Desmond loosely straddling his hips.

He gazed up at him from his narrowed eyes, hands rising to grip painfully at Desmond's waist again as he pulled the brunet down, their faces hovering mere inches away from each other.

"I don't think so…" And he took the opportunity whilst Desmond was left stunned by that to flip him back over, Clay pinning the younger man down underneath him as he caged their chests together, his hands splaying out on either side of Desmond's neck to give him no hope for trying _that_ particular stunt again. _He_ was going to top him and that was final. There was no way he'd allow Desmond to even come _close_ to fucking him after he'd gone and thrown his apology out the fucking window and couldn't get his head out of his ass for a single fucking minute.

He paused for a moment, just as he was about to crush his mouth back down on Desmond's, the man's lips parted like he was willing and ready for it.

_Is this what's really happening right now? We're really going to do this?_

He had a lot of questions if that was the case. Namely regarding their mutual revulsion at the little stunt Clay had pulled back in Brazil to avoid being captured by those Templars. If one kiss back then was enough to make them both want to wash their mouths out with soap, then why the _hell_ were they here right now, sucking each other's faces off and rolling around on the bed like bitches in heat?

"This is wrong…" He groaned, Desmond apparently having gotten impatient with how long Clay was taking and he took it upon himself to reach up and fist him by the hair, pulling his head down to close the distance so he could push his lips against that hot mouth of his. Desmond mumbled something in agreement against Clay's mouth, their lips sliding together in tandem now in a rhythm which was quickly becoming increasingly familiar for them both.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know," Desmond hissed back, biting down on Clay's bottom lip again and running the tip of his tongue over the red mark he made. Clay wasn't happy with that and he decided to knock some sense into him, roughly grinding his hips down over Desmond's and smirking when the resulting pressure against his half-hardened groin made the younger man flinch and pant something insulting against his mouth. Because he _was_ half-hard by now, and as Clay bucked his hips again, down against the tenting of the man's crotch, his smirk widened at the knowledge that he had some leverage to work with... should he have to.

And he knew he would _definitely_ have to.

"Everyone's asleep… you _really_ sure you wanna do this right now?" He breathed, grinding quickly against Desmond's hips, reaching a hand down to roughly pull at the zip of his jeans, already working on tugging them past Desmond's hips to reveal the tanned skin of his thighs. He wasn't going to play around. They had a deadline here. He didn't know if the others were light sleepers, but if for some reason any minute now Shaun or Rebecca would wake up to come looking to see what was going on meant that this would be a quick fuck, then so be it. God knows he needed some kind of release after all the shit that they'd been through in the past two months.

Desmond narrowed his eyes at him, pulling back for long enough to headbutt the blond faintly, Clay groaning as he shook his head to clear his vision. He was about to ask Desmond what the hell he had done that for when he stopped, seeing Desmond's hand slip deftly down into his boxers to draw out his cock, which was indeed already straining to attention. Clay watched, unable to take his eyes away as he smirked, arching a brow at Desmond who simply growled something and began to busy himself with rubbing his hands along the thick base of his member, pumping swiftly as he quickly worked himself to full hardness. Desmond's breath hitched and his head fell back against the pillow, soft groans falling from behind his clenched teeth, all array of quiet, low 'mmm's and 'ahhh's assaulting Clay's ears. It mildly amused Clay how the sight made him stir in his jeans, feeling a tell-tale throbbing between his legs. And speaking of jeans… they were rather tight right now.

He reached down to unzip them so he could relieve some of that uncomfortable constraint whilst Desmond was busy attending to himself, his cock soon standing proud and erect in his hands as he slowed the careful tugs and pulls of his hand, small drops of pre-come beading at the purplish head and looking rather tantalising indeed. He was thick, uncut, and as he pushed his foreskin back to reveal his cockhead all flushed and filled with blood, that coupled with the dark thread of soft-looking hairs trailing at the base of his cock made for a rather impressive sight, if Clay said so himself.

Which he did. And given any other situation he would have kicked himself for doing so.

"Gonna hurry up there or are you gonna watch me all day?" Clay blinked when the sound of Desmond's voice broke his thoughts and he looked up only to find the bastard just lying there, grin and all, casually pumping his cock in slow, long tugs as he nodded to the rather prominent bulge in Clay's boxers after giving the obvious impression that he'd been only far too aware of where Clay's eyes were fixed if he'd stopped to ignore his own needs for a moment. Clay made a face at him – one that was somehow vaguely reminiscent of the sneer a child would give to a friend when they decided to think it was funny to be a smartass in class – and he reached in and pulled himself free, biting his lip and groaning softly as he hissed at Desmond something along the lines of where he could take his attitude and stick it if he didn't watch himself.

Desmond only chuckled in response, and despite the current situation Clay _did_ find comfort in the fact that they weren't yelling or snarling at each other like they had been five minutes previously. It's amazing what a few seconds alone with you and your hand could do.

_Damn. It really is._

He didn't know what was sadder – the fact that this was the first time he'd been able to pleasure himself in a whole year and a half, or the fact that he was pleasuring himself for the first time in a year and a half and it wasn't even in his own damn body. As horrible as it might be, he was actually glad that Mark had kicked the bucket. He certainly didn't want the man to wake up and see this happening to him right now, that was for sure. Clay grit his teeth, his groans turning low and sharp as he tugged and fisted his cock – a half inch longer than Desmond's but no less thick or proud, with blond curls lightly dusting the base – soon letting out a long, low sigh as he felt it throb between his legs, heavy and very much erect with each gentle tug drawing forth a slow bolt of pleasure through his abdomen. Desmond gave a pleased grunt, reaching up to fist his hands in Clay's collar to bring him down for another hard kiss, wasting no time in sitting himself up to line himself on the older man's lap.

In doing so, he caused both their cocks to nudge together, eliciting sharp, shaky groans from the pair of them at the rather delightful friction that resulted in. Clay didn't mind the idea of getting off simply just by doing that, but he had more important matters to see to currently. Like getting this over and done with before anyone decided to wake up and walk down the corridor outside, for starters.

"You know we don't have any lube, right?" He muttered over the corner of Desmond's mouth, reaching down to fist their cocks together in his hand, smirking when Desmond hissed and bucked forwards.

"Doesn't matter," came the rather strained response. Clay pulled back, gazing at the man like he'd just gone permanently insane.

"Desmond, I'm not going in dry—"

"Use spit or something," Desmond muttered, looking like he thought he shouldn't have needed to have made that suggestion in the first place. Clay studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowed. Desmond caught him staring and brown eyes gazed back at him, Desmond's brow arching, impatience written clearly all over his face.

"Fine," Clay said after a moment. Desmond blinked. He seemed momentarily taken aback by that.

"So… are you going to hurry up about it or—" He didn't get to finish as Clay pushed him roughly back against the sheets, holding him in place with his palm splayed out firmly over his chest. He shoved Desmond's legs apart, Desmond giving a slow, rather pleased smirk of his own as he eagerly obliged, and he propped himself up on his elbows, watching Clay with interest as the man promptly spat a little into his hand and made to nudge his slicked fingers against the ring of muscle lining Desmond's ass.

No snide comments were made, nor even a sound was uttered. Clay saw to that as he crushed his mouth back down on Desmond's, distracting him enough with his mouth to work on the puckered muscle he plunged a finger into. Desmond clearly tried his hardest to resist the urge to groan, to cuss sharply under his breath or to hiss in pain. He knew there was an unspoken need for the two of them to be silent – _especially_ now. So he took it as best he could, grateful that Clay's mouth was doing wonders to keep his thoughts at bay, his hips jerking up as he rolled them to make it easier for Clay to pump his hand.

Clay moved quickly, seeing no point in trying to take his time. He knew Desmond could take it – he wasn't a woman for which Clay would normally take his time to caress and console to ensure he would do his best to not hurt her ( _thank god for that_ , he thought to himself as he pumped his finger in, out, worming another in and thrusting once, twice, three times more before adding a third as he broke his mouth away from Desmond's again for a minute to slick it with more spit). Not that he would ever willingly hurt Desmond though, of course. In fact the more he thought about it as his fingers pumped into his warmth, stretching and scissoring, lowering his head now to spit and lick the puckered ring of his ass with his tongue, resulting in Desmond panting quietly as he locked his legs around Clay's back, the more he realised that he would probably be even _more_ careful with Desmond to ensure he could make this the best he possibly could for them both with what little they had.

And also because this was technically the first time either of them had been with a man, so they had to be careful anyway.

When low groans turned into short, sharp, breathless gasps he pulled back – deeming Desmond as ready as he'll ever be for him. A look down at the man proved he was correct, Desmond looking up at him as he bit his lip between his teeth and bucked his hips impatiently, his cock flat against his navel and smeared with pre-come as he lazily fisted his shaft with his hand. Clay sighed, grabbing his cock and pumping again a couple of times, biting his own lip at the slow waves of pleasure which jolted through his abdomen again – _damn_ he was sensitive – and he allowed himself to be pulled back down to meet Desmond's mouth in another searing kiss as hands fisted in his collar again, Desmond giving Clay the perfect opportunity to thrust slowly inside.

He'd be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Granted he'd experienced much worse, but there was only so much that spit and limited preparation could do. He grit his teeth, his mouth falling away from Clay's lips so he could bury his head against the man's neck, inhaling his musky scent (which was actually quite pleasing, now that he thought about it), and he appreciated that Clay actually bothered to take a moment to still so he could get used to the sensation of a cock shoved up his ass. If this is what it was always like for a guy, then holy hell women must _really_ have it easy.

Clay groaned quietly, feeling Desmond tense up around him. That wasn't good. He'd barely slid in an inch and already he was clinging onto his neck and – _SHIT!_ – he winced. Desmond had decided to bite down against his throat in an effort to mask the sound he otherwise would have made. One thing was for sure, Desmond was _tight_ around him, despite how much he'd been stretched. Probably the spit's fault – if they had lube this wouldn't have been half as troublesome.

But if Desmond wanted this, who was he to deny him?

He reached down, pumping him with his hand, taking some pleasure from the fact that Desmond noticeably relaxed around him as soon as his palm enclosed around his shaft and started to pull and tug. _Damn_ , he had a nice cock, now that Clay thought about it... the way he twitched invitingly in his hand as he slid his palm up and down, tugging and flicking with careful movements, drawing pleased grunts and sighs from the man below him... Clay had almost forgotten that he'd stilled completely until Desmond huffed out a sharp breath against his neck, nodding to indicate that they might as well get this over and done with, though the glazed look in his eyes at Clay's ministrations around his cock indicated that he wouldn't exactly mind if the blond kept on doing that all night. But, no. They couldn't just stop now. Clay _was_ technically inside him at this point after all, and half-assing it now wouldn't amount to anything favourable. Especially when they were both rock hard and – dare they admit it – painfully aroused despite everything else.

He concentrated on continuing to pump Desmond's length, the smooth skin pulsing hotly in his hand the more he gripped and stroked, and as he felt the man ease up more around him, he was able to push inside a little bit further. Despite what he would have thought earlier on, it _was_ pleasurable, Clay discovered – despite how tight he was. Warm and snug – a bit _too_ snug perhaps, but damn it still felt kind of good – and the pair exchanged noticeably relieved exhales of breath when Clay finally, _finally_ managed to slide most of the way in.

Then he started to move. Desmond's head fell back and he locked his legs back around Clay's hips, feeling the expanse of the man's muscles rippling and moving even through his jacket as he thrust forwards slowly... held it for a moment... then slid back out. He was going slow, continuing to ease out, then holding again, then pushing back in and all the while his hand was doing wonders to his cock and his eyes rolled back – _mmm, fuck, right there…_ Clay was damn skilled, he had to hand it to him. In fact he probably would have if only he wasn't panting softly, hips rising and falling slowly in time with Clay's careful pistoning in, out…

_Fuck…_ Desmond's eyes snapped open and he managed to fix them on the blond above him, watching him as the man bit his lip between his teeth, his blue eyes glazed over in a look of both concentration and undeniable pleasure… _he's good…_

In fact when he was slowly fucking his ass like that it was hard to believe that it'd hurt like hell all of twenty seconds ago. Blue eyes then moved, and Clay locked eyes with him. A slow smile crept over Desmond's lips, and he bucked his hips up, helping guide the man deeper inside now that he could slide in there with practically no restraint and—

_God…_

Desmond's hands scrambled at Clay's shoulders, a barely audible gasp parting his mouth when Clay smirked and gave a particularly well-angled thrust in response to Desmond's obvious unspoken demand for more.

"You like that, Des?"

Desmond probably would have shivered then if things weren't already so hot in here. Hell, even the tone of Clay's _voice_ just then… he bucked his hips up again, grabbing his hair and tugging on the thick blond locks.

"Clay…" He muttered, pulling him down with another sharp tug on his hair. And just like that, he faltered. He was going to growl at him, to offer some kind of scathing remark with all the strength he could muster... but the words died in his throat. He found for a moment that he simply couldn't think. He saw blue eyes staring calmly back at him, blue yet somehow glazed over, low groans gasped every so often from those pale, flushed lips... he thrust in again, and Desmond felt himself arch under the man above him, his hands tightening through his hair as pleasure pulsed through his abdomen, pulsed in time with the feel of that cock sliding back up into his very core... but it was still the man's face that held him, the look in those eyes as Desmond let one hand go, grabbing Clay's right hand in his and holding his gaze as he smiled, a quiet, strangled moan dislodging from his throat as he snapped his hips back to meet Clay's thrusts, earning a simultaneous groan of pleasure from them both. He nodded, resting his brow faintly against Clay's when the man groaned again and leant down, their mouths brushing lightly together as blue eyes held brown.

"... Yeah."

And then his hand tightened around Clay's as he sought those pale lips, eagerly darting his tongue around his mouth before sealing him with a needy, hot kiss.

Clay's eyes widened, and for a minute he almost dropped his hold on Desmond's cock when those rather unexpected words fell from his throat, followed swiftly by the dizzying kiss he found himself pulled into. But he regained control over himself and his lips slid easily into a faint smile against Desmond's mouth, Clay groaning and plunging his tongue inside that hot cavern and chuckling lightly when Desmond teasingly bit back against his bottom lip in retort, sucking it into his mouth straight after and flicking the tip of his tongue over the corner of Clay's now kiss-swollen lips.

_Well then._ If he wanted to play it that way… so be it.

He didn't mind though. How could he? Not when Desmond had been looking at him like that a moment ago... Clay had thought for a moment that something had gone wrong, that Desmond was going to snap at him, try to push him away or... do _something_. But he didn't. He'd just simply grabbed his hand, held onto it and when he met his thrusts like that, panting with each slow slap of skin against skin - because they _were_ going slow now, Clay groaning lightly in pleasure against Desmond's mouth as he ground his hips into Desmond's, feeling him clench around his cock and pulling forth all manner of wonderful sensations from his abdomen in response – he'd forgotten his train of thought now, his fingers tightening around Desmond's as they panted softly into each other's mouths, lips crushing together in slow kiss after slow kiss.

Desmond's free hand had slipped from Clay's hair, trailing down now to grip at his waist, his palm splayed flat against his hot skin as he slipped his fingers under his shirt, gently goading him further on, to finish what they'd started. He'd pulled him closer now, so close there was nothing to separate them as chest ground against chest, hips against hips as they writhed slowly on the bed, limbs entwined like the end of the world was fucking depending on it. Clay answered his silent plea, slipping his tongue into Desmond's parted mouth again and idly dancing, swirling the tip of his tongue over Desmond's as he moved harder. Faster. Pistoning his hips with more force behind each buck of his lower body, he drove deeper into Desmond's pliant warmth. He'd started to feel great – _more_ than great actually – around him now and he'd be lying if he said he didn't like the way Desmond looked under him like that when he lifted his head; his face was flushed and his mouth was open and panting with silent gasps, head thrown back as he broke the kiss, his legs tightening around Clay's hips as another buck straight to his prostate had him choke out a sharp, breathless _"fuck... keep going..."_

Clay bent down again, his hand still pumping Desmond's cock even as the man dropped his hand from his waist and moved it down his body to help him, his fingers tightening around Clay's as they worked together to help him feel like he was on the bloody moon – thick, white strands of pre-come already sliding wetly down in-between their fingers and coating the base of Desmond's cock as their hands and Clay's thrusts right home drew Desmond ever closer to release. Another smile crossed their lips, Desmond capturing Clay's mouth again and closing his eyes as their lips met in leisurely, paced movements.

Neither of them were particularly vocal lovers when it came to sex, so that was perhaps their saving grace tonight. As it was, the most they uttered were short, sharp gasps for breath, coupled with low, barely audible groans and pleased grunts as they moved together on the bed. In fact, Clay was _particularly_ grateful for that because if Desmond were to give sound to match the expressions on his face as he bit his lip and locked heated brown eyes on Clay, not only Shaun and Rebecca would be in here already but William and probably even motherfucking Juno herself.

_Now there's a thought_ , Clay mused idly. What a nice show that would make. She'd have to work a lot harder to try to turn Desmond against him then.

A sharp grind upwards from Desmond's hips drew him out of his thoughts, and he arched a brow as he looked down at the man in question, a simple smile all he had to offer as he watched Desmond buck up again, then again, and then with a soft, gentle _"fuck…"_ uttered from his parted mouth he finally spilled and rivulets of warm, hot seed splattered lightly over their hands and jeans. Clay sighed approvingly, feeling the way that Desmond's walls seemed to constrict around his already tender, leaking cock – and he set the final stretch as he continued to thrust in, out…

He fell forwards, lightly caging Desmond under him as he crushed his mouth back down onto those hot, scarred lips – and using the forceful rhythm they fell into as mouth slid against mouth he spilled inside that wondrous snug warmth. Desmond's head fell back again then, pulling free from that kiss with a long, tired sigh escaping him as he closed his eyes, feeling Clay release inside him and honestly also feeling too damn buzzed from his own little moment to do anything about it.

_What does it even matter? It feels fucking great._

It really did, the more he thought about it now. Of course it could be the post-coital bliss talking, but after he'd had a day or two to get over the soreness in his backside he'd no doubt be sporting soon, he'd think about it properly then. It was no big deal though, really. Just some other guy's seed pooling in his ass, that was all.

He bit his lip again.

Fuck.

Now how the hell was he going to explain _this_ to everyone? The simple thing was of course not to. But he reminded himself to think over it later, just like everything else. He just wanted to lie here a little longer.

For a long time, the only thing that could be heard in that room was the sound of faint gasps for air parting their lips, gasps which soon turned into light groans and then eventually faded into silence. Idly stroking his thumb over the back of Clay's wrist, Desmond found himself blinking blearily and turning his head when Clay finally made to sit himself up, the man running a hand through his hair to smooth it back from his face. He pulled out, doing so carefully, and they both elicited quiet sighs when his cock left Desmond's ass. Desmond was half-expecting Clay to say something; a snide comment perhaps, or no doubt something that would make him throw the pillow at his face to get him to shut up. But he didn't. Desmond was rather impressed. In fact Desmond was so impressed that he didn't even have an issue with Clay grabbing the sheets from his bed and wiping them down, before choosing that moment to lie down next to him, loosely wrapping an arm around his waist as he closed his eyes and buried his head on the pillow beside Desmond's neck. The heat of his body was nice, relaxing. Of course it may have been a little _too_ warm for Desmond's liking, considering he was still currently trying to come down from the pleasant high that was gripping his brain, but to hell with it.

He turned his head, lazily meeting Clay's lips as the blond pressed another kiss to his mouth. Then another. Then another after that. Desmond frowned, muttering something unintelligible against his mouth as he moved his lips in time with Clay's, pressing back with no restraint as his hands wound through blond locks. He was soon left panting again, and Clay finally pulled away to lean his brow back against the younger man's, his words sounding hoarse as he managed to find his voice again.

"The fuck just happened?"

Desmond couldn't find an appropriate response to that question. So he shrugged. All he knew was that there had been... an argument? Of some kind? His brain was fuzzy, still wrapped in the hands of post-coital bliss, every thought that passed through his head sluggish and slow. Everything he could remember over the past half hour was pleasure - something absolute. Something that felt _right_ about what they'd just done. So he mustered as much strength as he had left to mumble something he hoped came across as annoyed, irritated. But it sounded tired and amused instead.

"Shut up."

Clay managed a faint snort at that, but nevertheless he let the matter slide. He blinked when Desmond moved to press another hard kiss to his mouth, one which was out of retaliation more than anything, and when he pulled back again his eyes slipped closed for a couple of minutes as he slowly calmed his breathing and waited for his heart to settle back to normal. Before the fatigue well and truly took hold however, he managed to catch Clay's quiet words by his ear.

"If you yell at me for this tomorrow morning, I'm gonna punch you in the face."

Desmond didn't reply. He'd already fallen asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

When he woke up, the first thing that Desmond realised as he blinked through squinted eyes was that he felt cold. Groaning under his breath he rubbed a palm over his face, taking a moment to wait for the rest of himself to wake up, his brain groggily coming to the longer he laid there. The next thing that he realised as he finally managed to sit himself upright, was that he felt a dull ache in his backside. Cussing faintly under his breath he sighed, running his fingers through his hair and taking a moment to close his eyes again, taking stock of the situation.

A minute passed, and then another, Desmond sitting there in silence as he contemplated where he should go from here. He wondered where Clay had gone to. Glancing around again he didn't see any sight of the blond. He wondered what the time was. How long had he been asleep? A quick check of his watch (he hadn't bothered to take it off last night) informed him it was nearing eight in the morning.

_Another hour until my session starts_ , he mused drily, his scarred lips twitching into a thin smile.

The sound of movement by the hallway drew his attention, and he lifted his head as Clay walked in.

"Finally up?"

The best Desmond could provide in response was a scathing insult under his breath, though the faint quirk of a smile on his lips did not go unnoticed by the blond who merely chuckled as he walked over to his bed, sat himself down opposite the younger man and took a moment to calmly sit there. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it was clear as blue eyes locked onto brown that there were things that needed to be said... and needed to be said soon.

And they would. But for now... Desmond wanted to avoid that. So he contented himself with simply looking back at the blond, arching a brow at him as he took in the slight dampness of his hair, blond locks brushing down over his forehead. It was clear that he'd just taken a shower, and the more Desmond sat there the more he realised that he was probably overdue for one himself.

"Man you slept like a log last night."

His lips twitched and Desmond couldn't help but crack a grin at Clay's cheerful words. Rolling his eyes, he threw him the finger before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck.

"No thanks to you," he muttered under his breath. Clay's smile grew, and the man merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Hey, whatever keeps you quiet. Normally you start screaming out about Juno half an hour after you've closed your eyes so I think that was a real improvement."

Desmond's smile faded, as did Clay's.

"Yeah... right..."

Clay sighed at that, looking away for a moment.

"Look... don't go into it, ok? We'll talk about it later. For now everyone wants you out there so... the sooner you get your session over and done with..."

Desmond nodded, tilting his head to regard the blond.

"I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're worried about."

Clay looked at him. Seeing the arch of the man's eyebrow Desmond continued.

"Fuck knows we needed that last night."

There was a brief silence, Clay continuing to watch Desmond carefully before the beginnings of a slow smile could be seen working at his lips. He looked relieved, Desmond noted. Relieved and amused. Desmond fought the urge to give a rather satisfied smile himself.

"You're just saying that so I won't punch you in the face, aren't you?" Clay mused, grinning as he did so. Desmond snorted, remembering Clay's half-hearted threat just shortly before he'd fallen asleep.

"Maybe," he shrugged, unable to keep the teasing tone out of his voice. Clay scoffed, moving to rise from his seat now, stretching a little as he did so. Then he lifted his head to look directly at Desmond. And that was just it. A simple look – matter-of-fact. Calm. Collected. He didn't even look like he had an issue with what they'd done. And that reassured Desmond more than anything... because waking up... he knew he _should_ have been disgusted, enraged... but he wasn't. Hell he didn't even care anymore. The world was fucked, and they were pretty much fucked with it. All inhibition and regret had been effectively thrown out the window last night and for once he was feeling damn good about himself.

"I'm gonna go back out there and let everyone know you're still alive and not sulking in a dark, lonely corner somewhere," Clay announced after a moment, clapping Desmond on the shoulder as he made to leave. Desmond resisted the urge to roll his eyes at that.

"Did you tell them I was sulking?" He asked.

"Nope, but it looked like you were about to when you ticked off last night. You had this downcast mopey look in your eyes—"

"Shut up and get out," Desmond snorted, waving him off. Clay grinned, offering a mock-salute in Desmond's direction. He turned and prepared to walk away, but he paused a few feet from the doorway. He looked back at the younger man, his grin slipping into a slow smirk.

"You might wanna get yourself cleaned up a bit too. Just a thought," he added. Then he was gone before Desmond even had a chance to give him the finger again. Chuckling, Clay took the opportunity to draw back into his thoughts as he walked down the corridor, the events of the morning unfolding before his mind yet again just as they had when he'd come out here earlier to grab a shower.

His smile slowly fell from his lips and he froze in his steps, his brows furrowing. Leaning back against the nearby wall he brought his hands up and rubbed at his face, bowing his head as he did so. He thought back to a few hours ago... when his eyes had opened and he'd found himself sitting up only to look down at Desmond sleeping there beside him. It was true when he'd said to him a short moment ago that he'd been quiet during the night... no calls from Juno, no nothing. That was a cause for relief in and of itself, but that still left Clay with the issue of what had happened the previous night.

He remembered what his first thought had been, waking up and seeing the brown haired man with his eyes closed and a peaceful look on his face, all things considered.

_What the fuck have I done?_

Well he'd fucked Desmond Miles, that's what he'd done. It seemed laughable now, thinking over it again with a mind fully awake and refreshed. Desmond-fucking-Miles... now that he had five seconds alone to himself again he was starting to see some problems here. He blamed his overactive mind, made even _more_ overactive thanks to Abstergo.

_Clay Kaczmarek, on the list of top ten fucked up things you've done in your life, this is the new number one._

He tilted his head back against the wall now, eyes training over the glowing blue glyphs etched into the onyx rock before him. It _was_ fucked up. Of course it was. Desmond knew it too. But at the end of the day sex was sex and ultimately it didn't matter who you did it with - the end result would most often always be the same. And Clay would be lying if he said he didn't damn well fucking enjoy it. Desmond had apparently enjoyed it too, if his reactions had been anything to go by. Hell he didn't even look like he secretly regretted it, so that was reassuring. Besides… if Clay took the time to think back over everything properly… it _had_ been Desmond who'd started it all off in the first place.

He blinked, tilting his head now so he could look back in the direction of the room he'd just left. Desmond had wanted him. Even if it was just as a means to help him shut up so they could stop yelling for a bit, or to relieve some of the tension, the responsibility of the world ending, Juno, William… all of that bullshit if only for a moment, _he_ had wanted _him_. It didn't matter if it had been serious or not. Clay had given in anyway and he was left feeling thoroughly satisfied. In fact the more he thought back on it now, on how Desmond felt wrapped around his cock and how he'd been bucking up into his hips, gripping onto him and looking right into his eyes as he thrust right in…

Clay groaned, feeling a rather noticeable blood rush right down where he didn't exactly want it right now. He exhaled sharply and tried to clear his head. As soon as he assured himself that he had everything under control he pushed away from the wall and resumed his path back towards the direction of the temple's main sanctum where he knew Rebecca and Shaun were getting set up for the new day.

He didn't know what this meant. He didn't know if it was going to happen again. Would he mind if it did, though?

He just didn't know. He'd never been attracted to men before, and he couldn't honestly say if he _was_ attracted to Desmond in that way. But to hell with it. The world was ending. Might as well have some fun before the planet blew up and it was better to do it with a close friend than a complete stranger, after all. Made things much easier on the conscience. Mutual gratification. Easy solved. And Desmond _did_ feel damn good around his dick with his lips firmly sucking at his mouth.

He stopped.

A little _too_ good.

Frowning, he sighed again.

_Shit._

He was in this deeper than he thought. He quickly pushed the matter out of his head.

Shaun was the first to look up when he entered the sanctum some short minute later, Clay having stepped out of the shadows of the corridor and pausing a few feet or so away from the animus. Rebecca turned around from her computer, the look on the woman's face showing all signs of worry and uncertainty.

"Is he ok?" She asked. She and Shaun had wanted Clay to go check on him when they'd seen him head down to the showers that morning, which was why he'd come back to see if Desmond was awake. Personally he would have liked to have let him rest a while longer, but at the same time he knew that if he didn't get Desmond up soon, William would come back from wherever the hell he'd disappeared to overnight and both of them would never hear the end of it. Suffer yet another lecture from Bill (whose temper had already flared considerably thanks to him discovering that Mark wasn't who he appeared to be) or sleep in a bit longer to suffer an even _bigger_ lecture. Those were the two options they were presented with, and Clay took it upon himself to try to risk the former in the hopes that he could avoid the latter. Looking at Rebecca now he nodded.

"He's fine."

Rebecca gave a soft sigh of relief.

"Thank god."

"Have to admit, Becs and I were a bit worried about him," Shaun began slowly, the Brit narrowing his eyes in obvious concern under his glasses. "Originally we were going to come down there to check up on him last night after he up and went."

Clay was lucky he didn't decide to reach for the fresh cup of coffee he saw sitting on the nearby table, otherwise he would have spat it out everywhere. Doing his best to force a smile on his lips he shrugged his shoulders. He didn't offer any further comment. Shaun on the other hand nodded, looking pensive as he reached out to clap the blond on the shoulder.

"But you did explain everything to him I'm sure, and you're still living and breathing here before us Clay so clearly the danger has passed for the meantime," he announced. Clay paused, the sound of his own name spoken so freely from someone other than Desmond momentarily catching him off guard. He'd become so used to hearing 'Mark' from Shaun that he'd almost forgotten that the Brit had been standing there when William was looking like he was getting close to screaming his head off about Clay's rather controversial possession over Mark's body.

He blinked, letting Shaun's words sink in before taking a step back and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah… thanks." He was about to turn around to resume his surveillance at the computer when he heard Rebecca call out to him.

"Just FYI… we've managed to calm Bill down. A little bit, anyway. I mean he's still pissed off with you but we told him we'd walk right out of here if he so much as touched you or Des."

Clay looked over his shoulder at the woman, seeing a soft grin on her mouth. He felt his eyes widen.

"Thought you'd be the first to jump on pulling me out," he replied, gazing at her with a rather amused expression crossing his eyes after a moment. "Considering you've hated my guts since this whole thing started."

Rebecca waved it off.

"Never hated you Clay, you know that. Des needs someone to keep him on his toes."

Clay couldn't help but chuckle at that, knowing that to be true in one way or another. He grabbed that cup of coffee, took a sip and sat himself down at the computer near the animus.

"Thanks guys."

And he meant it.

* * *

Desmond had purposely waited until a good half hour had passed before he finally stood himself up and made to walk out to grab a shower. He still felt the dull aches rocket through his lower body as he walked, but seeing as it was hardly noticeable to some extent he was easily able to ignore it. He also tried to ignore the thoughts in his head which decided to pop up, too. It was inevitable of course. As soon as the afterglow faded away he knew his brain would be swamped by "what ifs" and "how's" for what had happened in that room, so he wasn't surprised in the slightest when they came rolling in like a tsunami. But these thoughts weren't directed towards Clay taking control like that and having his way with him.

He still felt rather good about it, actually.

No, his thoughts were directed towards how low he'd driven himself before that whole thing had started. He'd yelled at Clay for starters – straight after William had torn him a new one. It hurt. It stung hard. Clay had kept the story about Mark from him for his own personal wellbeing – whatever he did, he did it for Desmond, to ensure that he wouldn't have to deal with any of that bullshit on top of everything else the world demanded of him. And he'd been affected badly – he _knew_ that William would never stand for him staying in Mark's body. He knew that this couldn't last... he was feeling like absolute _shit_ , so how did Desmond comfort him, help him through his doubts and insecurities?

He tore him a new one himself, just like William had done. It sickened him to his stomach. So in a way, Desmond supposed the sex had been to make up for that terrible mistake he'd made. And it had worked, hadn't it? Desmond certainly hoped it did, because the fact that they weren't arguing anymore seemed to say a lot about that side of things. He continued to mull these thoughts over as he showered, feeling the cool water run over his skin, making him tilt his head back and groan softly as he relaxed.

Clay had gone back to Rebecca and Shaun, Desmond having seen the three of them engaged in conversation when he'd headed down to the shower. He'd offered nods to the other two, indicating that he was alright. But he'd smiled at Clay, when Rebecca and Shaun had had their backs turned. And Clay had grinned right back.

Desmond felt himself relax again now. No, it would appear that there were no more hard feelings.

_Thank god._

He didn't want to lose the closest friend he had. As he scrubbed himself off under the spray of water, that was another thought that made him momentarily freeze.

Clay was still his friend… right? What they'd done… it didn't mean anything to either of them, did it? It was just pent-up anger, sexual frustration… it was a mutual release they both needed and they'd found it.

Together.

Desmond winced.

_Yeah that made it worse._

He tilted his head back and let the water run down his back and face, his hair dripping as he shook his head and ran his fingers through his soaked locks.

If it didn't mean anything, then why the hell did he still feel so damn good about it?

_Hell. Who cares. It was the best night of my fucking life._

He sighed, stepping out of the water and drying himself off. He didn't bother to run the towel through his hair, instead finding the trickles of water that dripped down his neck to be quite refreshing. It helped clear his head in a way.

By the time he'd walked back out to the others Clay and Shaun were both nowhere to be seen, but Rebecca was still hovering around near the computers. She looked up when she heard him behind her and she offered him a slight smile.

"You alright?"

Desmond nodded.

"Yeah I'm fine. Where're the others?"

Rebecca jerked her head in the direction of the bridge behind them. Desmond turned around and saw two distinctly familiar figures at the end, looking at the gateway and then walking over to one of the computers that Shaun had set up down there. He nodded.

"Ah."

"Shaun wanted Clay's help on some readings he was getting by the monitors there," Rebecca explained as she turned back to her work.

"What kind of readings?" Desmond was watching Clay, idly biting his bottom lip as the thoughts continued to roll in. A hand waving in his face caught his attention and he span back around to look at Rebecca again. She didn't say anything, though she did look somewhat amused by Desmond's lapse in concentration.

"Apparently the gate's giving off some kind of electrical interference with the computer set up over there. I didn't catch all of it but Shaun said somethin' about it heating up like there was energy being released from behind that bridge."

Desmond blinked.

"You mean solar energy?" He wouldn't be surprised if that was the case. The world _was_ due to roast alive any day now. Not to mention he couldn't even begin to imagine how hard the outside was being hit by global warming in some places. Rebecca shook her head.

"Nah. Actually energy from the gate itself. Kinda like the boosts those power sources give the temple whenever you pop one in place."

Desmond frowned. He'd have to ask Clay about that too. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighing and walking over to grab some much-needed caffeine.

"Dare I ask where my dad is?" He muttered. Rebecca looked at him.

"Outside. I tried not to ask too many questions when he stormed off this morning."

Desmond gave a bitter smile, lifting the cup of coffee to his lips and taking a long swig. He closed his eyes, sighing as the aromatic brew went down his throat and he felt its welcoming effects start to kick in, slowly feeling himself waking up a little more.

"Y'know, Rebecca I… really appreciate what you've done. Both you and Shaun. For sticking up for him…" He trailed off, not needing to indicate to the woman who he was talking about. It was fairly obvious anyway. Rebecca offered a slight grin and she shrugged her shoulders, leaning against the nearby wall as Desmond turned to look at her.

"You honestly think we'd subject Clay to that torture after all he's been through with that thing already?" She asked, somewhat incredulously as she jerked her head in the direction of the animus. "Not a fucking chance. I gotta say though, I _was_ surprised by how well Shaun took it when he found out."

This caught Desmond's attention and he arched a brow.

"Yeah?"

Rebecca's grin widened.

"Yeah. We were just sitting here waiting for an update on the mic when all of a sudden we start hearing him talking about writing those glyphs all over the lab floor. Shaun didn't look surprised. In fact he looked the complete opposite, like he'd been suspecting it all along."

Desmond froze.

"I didn't tell him, relax," Rebecca rolled her eyes, as if guessing what Desmond was going to say next. Desmond felt the tension in his muscles recede somewhat, but still he was left wondering how Shaun could have possibly guessed…

"I think it was the computer that gave it away."

Desmond looked back at Rebecca. She nodded to the computer that Shaun would often occupy.

"When he asked Clay to do a search for the other artefacts after you found the first one he'd added a few of his own codes to the system to improve the search speed. He didn't clear them out so when Shaun came back and sat down he saw all that on the monitor. No one knows how to code like that out of the both of us so that left only one possible explanation left." She winked at him and chuckled, pushing away from the wall and moving forwards to grab her own cup of coffee.

Desmond gave a chuckle himself, smiling as he looked back down at the gate.

"Right…"

He glanced at the animus.

"Everything all set up yet?"

Rebecca nodded, taking a sip from her own drink.

"Baby's ready when you are. You _sure_ you don't wanna rest a little more though...? We have time. God knows you took the whole place down in Abstergo..."

Desmond gave a small chuckle and waved the comment off. Sure he could use some more rest (he still had other aches and pains in his limbs that had nothing to do with last night), but he was determined to get today's session over and done with. The key was of the utmost priority. He'd rest when he finally found it. He drained the rest of his coffee off before seating himself down on the animus chair, frowning as he carefully eased himself onto it. Shifting a little to get himself as comfortable as he possibly could, he waited whilst Rebecca worked on grabbing the IV and worked on sticking it in his arm.

As soon as the familiar prick of the needle hit his skin, his eyes slid closed and he waited as the virtual world of the animus opened up before his darkened vision, sending him sprawling back through time.

* * *

"So what you're saying is these artefacts we're finding don't just power up the bridge?" Clay asked as Shaun typed away at something at his keyboard. They'd been here for the past 10 minutes inspecting the gateway, Shaun having called Clay over to ask for his help in establishing a secure network to monitor the electrical readings the transparent-looking barrier was providing.

He didn't know why Shaun couldn't have asked for Rebecca's help instead, but then again she _was_ currently monitoring Desmond in the animus, so he supposed that was justified.

Shaun looked up.

"Mm," he mumbled, sounding distracted before straightening himself upright. He looked at the barrier.

"Apparently not. It would appear they also power up this lock here which is undoubtedly where that key will go once Desmond locates it," he announced, pointing to the spherical indent etched into the barrier, a rim of silver metal circling the outside of it. In the middle of the carved surface appeared to be a slot for something no wider than an inch in diameter.

Clay didn't look very impressed.

"Is there any reason why it took you two months to figure that out?" He asked. Shaun narrowed his eyes at him.

"Oh ha ha, very funny. I've been putting all my attention into trying to locate those power sources, thank you very much. Besides, even if we'd already determined what this lock is used for, we couldn't have done anything with it until we _had_ those three power sources. Which we now do."

Clay shrugged. He had a point.

"Guess I'd better tell Desmond then," he sighed, lifting his arms over his head and stretching. "He had the power source last I checked."

That was true. And also the last time he checked, the bag that Desmond had placed it in was in their room. He sighed.

Shaun looked like he was about to respond when he stopped, the man's eyes widening steadily under his glasses.

"Bollocks…" He muttered under his breath. Clay frowned, about to ask Shaun what the hell was going on with him when a familiar gruff-sounding voice ringing out behind him called him to attention. He groaned.

"Clay, I need a word with you. Now."

It was William.

Clay turned around slowly, his eyes narrowed at the older man with his arms still crossed over his chest. He cocked his head to the side, regarding him coolly.

"What?" He ground out, none too politely. This was the _last_ thing he needed to worry about right now. William apparently didn't have time for snide remarks like that however, and all he did was jerk his head in some direction behind him, indicating that he wanted the blond to follow.

And if he didn't, then he would drag him there himself.

Clay cast a glance over to Shaun, excusing himself before preparing to follow (as slowly as he could). He looked around him as he followed the older man, William leading him off to the side towards an out-of-the-way annexe in the far opposite side of the temple's main hall carved into the back of some stairs that looked like they were about to crumble and topple over at any given second.

Just before he reached the stairs his eyes darted over to Desmond's prone form lying on the animus. He really wished he wasn't in there right now, because he needed something to keep him sane for all the bullshit that William was no doubt getting ready to fire at him.

_Today is just not my day._

William had stopped behind the stairs and he span around to glare at the blond behind him. Clay kept his face as calm and as neutral as he possibly could.

"Look, Bill, I'm not going to leave—"

"No, you've made that apparent. I don't care anymore," William interrupted sharply. Clay paused, his eyes narrowing.

"Ok…"

William had begun pacing to and fro in front of him.

"I'm not going to apologise for how I acted yesterday. I think we can all agree my concern is well-placed. But what I still don't understand is why you didn't bother telling me all this _beforehand?_ " He locked his eyes on Clay's. "You were always a bright, intelligent young man. I thought you would have had much more sense than this."

Clay arched a brow. This was worse than he expected. He was honestly wishing William would just _yell_ at him at this point.

"If I told you any of this beforehand, d'you think you would have reacted any less than what you did earlier on?" He asked slowly, his voice rising challengingly.

"No." William's answer was exactly what Clay was expecting. He sneered.

"Then you have your answer."

William began to pace again.

"But I _would_ have, in all good conscience, been able to have forgiven you for what you'd done. But seeing as we're so close to the end of everything here… you have to understand that I can't let this slide."

Clay rolled his eyes. This was getting nowhere.

"Right, right. You're going to throw me back into the animus anyway after the world explodes, got it. I'm going back to my work now." And with that he made to lift his hand in a wave as he turned around, but William stopped him in his tracks with his next question.

"How did you do it?"

Clay turned his head.

"Do what?" He didn't even try to keep the irritation out of his voice. William had taken a step closer.

"Use Desmond to leave the animus? Take over Mark like that?"

Clay resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. _Here we go._

"Magic," he remarked drily, preparing to take his leave again. What stopped him was the look in William's eyes. Sighing, Clay decided to humour him a little while longer unless he wanted his head shoved onto a pike. Because from the way that William was glaring at him, that was probably exactly what was going to happen if he didn't start talking and start talking fast.

"My construct is just data," he explained impatiently, wanting to hurry up with this pointless explanation and be done with it. "Whenever someone enters an animus the machine simulates a virtual copy of the user inside it - that's just how the simulation works. So Desmond was just data himself when he met me on that Island in his coma. I fused my data with his when he was about to leave, and that's how I was able to stick myself in the back of his brain when he woke up. For Mark... it was much the same thing, though it was a bit more... involved."

"How so?" William asked, a wary look entering his eyes. Clay shrugged.

"I had to actually take control of Desmond's body for a bit." He rolled his eyes then when the rage visibly simmered in William's cold gaze, and he held up a hand to silence him before he could _really_ start yelling at him. "Mark was hooked up to the life support. I was able to transfer my data through the electrical current in the wires attached to his body, but I couldn't just do that by getting Desmond to stand next to him - I had to physically move his hands so I could direct my data towards that current. Then I did the rest as soon as I was safely inside, and then I woke up. Any more questions or can I go now?" He fixed his mentor with a glare.

"You took control of my _son?!"_ William asked slowly. Clay could almost feel the veins twitching in his forehead. 

"Yes, actually. You know what Bill? I did it a couple of times. First was when he almost wrung his hands around your neck. What can I say? What you said to him that day _really_ pissed me off. Second was when I didn't want him looking at everything on Mark's file because I didn't want to scare him with the prospect that he'd be kicking the bucket soon. And before you even start to yell at me for this - why the _fuck_ do you think I was so damn eager to get myself out of his head?! I _hated_ it! All that data in his brain... Desmond was going to suffer greatly for it if I didn't get out of there soon. He was having nightmares, Bill. Four nights in a row after I settled myself in his head. It sucked even more because the only time I could talk to him was when he subconsciously relaxed himself enough to let me. If I camped up there for more than that week I shared his head he wouldn't even _need_ Juno to fall into a coma again. As it was he got off lightly with mild dizziness and a headache after I got myself out so just be damn thankful it wasn't anything worse!"

He was panting now, his hands clenching by his sides as he threw his mentor a challenging glare, as if _daring_ him to try and test him right now.

So he didn't know whether to blink in shock or just stand frozen there like an idiot when William shook his head, lifted a hand to his brow, and elicited a tired chuckle.

"Why do you care so much about helping Desmond? Ensuring his wellbeing?"

That question took him completely off guard. Clay's fingers uncurled ever so slightly and he soon sighed, closing his eyes before finally opening them again. He held the older man's gaze, his words sombre as he finally answered him.

"Because you aren't. I thought I already told you that."

William faltered for a moment. Just a moment… but it was enough.

"He needs to—"

"No he doesn't need to work this out for himself. He needs someone to be there for him when the entire planet shits itself because some fucking solar flare is going to wipe out humanity, Bill. He needs someone to help him when he risks his own _sanity_ trying to find that fucking key. He needs support, and you're not giving it to him. I thought we already had this conversation a long time ago?"

He was expecting William to yell at him this time, to growl some heated words while going on about how Clay shouldn't be lecturing him on how to treat his own son… but he didn't. William instead just sighed, running a hand through his grey hair and fixing an oddly defeated look on the younger man.

"I was going to say he needs to have a more permanent source of support."

Clay blinked.

"… What?"

William looked like he was about to continue when Clay cut him off again.

"Are you saying you don't think I'm doing enough?" He sounded incredulous. "Are you _seriously_ saying that to me right now?!"

William held both hands up in a placating gesture.

"I'm saying that while what you're doing is helping him _now_ , it may not necessarily help him in the future. Do you honestly think that body is going to last you?"

"Yeah, I do. I'm the only one in here after all—"

"It's not going to last, Clay. It's not going to last because I won't let you. Desmond won't, either."

Clay froze, the look on his face one caught between both amusement and utter disbelief.

"Desmond won't let me?" He echoed, his lips twitching into the first tell-tale showings of a smirk.

How delusional could the man possibly _get?_

_Desmond won't let me?_ He had to stop himself from laughing. _Oh, William Miles. If only you knew._

He wondered how that would go down, if he told him the truth.

" _Well Bill, he certainly let me bury him around my cock last night."_

He wanted to say it. He wanted to say it so bad. But for obvious reasons he couldn't. So he said the next best thing.

"Then you really don't know your son."

That comment sparked a visible show of anger within William's eyes, but Clay simply smiled. He lifted his hand in a wave, turning back around in preparation to take his leave.

"If you really think he doesn't want me in Mark's body… ask him yourself. You might be surprised."

As he walked off, his smile grew into a cheerful grin.

* * *

When he finally came to, Desmond felt like the dead. He couldn't remember ever feeling so sluggish before as he ambled out of the animus, yawning as he mumbled something in response to Rebecca's cheerful greeting. He still hadn't found anything yet from today's session, but he was close. He _knew_ he was. Just a few more hours in that thing...

Grabbing himself another cup of pre-made coffee (no doubt left there by Rebecca for him) and not even caring that it was scalding hot, he drained it and leant back against the wall, waiting for the caffeine to start working its magic again.

"Big day for you today, Desmond."

He mumbled something again, yawning once more and rubbing his eyes as he blinked sleepily around trying to find the source of the voice that had just called out to him. It took him a moment to realise who it was, seeing Shaun looking at him expectantly (if not a little amusedly) from his computer.

But now that the coffee was starting to work, he became aware of the fact that something was clearly up. He couldn't explain it, but… the entire mood felt… wrong.

"What happened?" He asked lowly. Then he looked around him. Everyone was gathered here except for one. He felt his stomach churn uncomfortably. "Where's Clay?" He hadn't seen him upon waking up, either. In fact the last time he'd seen him was when he'd walked out here earlier on that day on his way to and from the shower.

Shaun scoffed lightly, leaning back in his seat.

"Gee, a 'hi Shaun, how are you' would suffice, but no. You have to go asking about—" He stopped when he saw the look on Desmond's face and he dropped the act, sighing quietly as he turned back to his computer.

"Becs found something on the cameras while you were under and he went out to investigate."

Desmond put his coffee back down.

"What was it?" He asked, not even bothering to keep the urgency out of his voice. Shaun didn't remove his eyes from his computer.

"A possible breach in security…" That was all he said. And that was all Desmond needed to hear. He ran out, ignoring the sharp yells from Shaun and Rebecca for him to come back. He tore up the tunnel leading to the cave outside, panting as he leapt upwards to dig his hands into the steep dirt incline, hoping to pick up speed by climbing instead of picking his way slowly using just his legs like he normally would.

Ignoring the sharp glare of the sun the second he stumbled out into the open, he shielded his eyes as much as he could as he tore off into the clearing, looking around him for any sight of the blond. Not seeing anything he groaned under his breath, running forwards anyway towards where the van was parked undercover of the nearby trees.

No sooner had he reached the back of the vehicle had he grunted in dull pain, having knocked straight into someone.

" _Ow!_ Jesus Christ - you trying to kill me or something?!"

Desmond shook his head, rubbing his skull from where he'd collided heads with none other than Clay himself. Clay didn't look very impressed, nursing his own forehead himself, and he arched a brow at Desmond as he waited for an explanation for why the hell he'd just come barrelling into him for apparently no good reason.

"Sorry… didn't see you there," Desmond muttered, shaking his head again and giving a sharp sigh of relief. His lips curled into an apologetic grin, one which was returned easily by Clay as he waved it off, beckoning for Desmond to stay low as he indicated for him to follow as soon as they'd waited for the dull pain in their heads to subside. Desmond did so, whilst also trying to decide which out of the million questions that were zooming around through his brain right now he should ask as he crouched down and crept towards the edge of the clearing where the two men paused in the cover of the trees and bushes around them.

"Shaun said something was going on out here…" He began, keeping his voice low. Clay nodded, side-eyeing the younger man.

"Yeah. I was actually just on my way to come find you when you ran into me," he chuckled drily. Desmond rolled his eyes. Clay jerked his head towards the far side of the clearing, and Desmond followed his gaze.

No sooner had he done so had his stomach dropped from inside him.

_Shit._

"Please tell me that's not what I think it is…" He whispered. Clay smile bitterly.

"Use your Eagle Vision and find out."

Desmond knew that whether he did or not it wouldn't make any difference. But he ended up doing so anyway. As the world met him in muted greys, he almost had to shield his eyes from the violent explosion of crimson which burst through his retinas. Cussing sharply under his breath he blinked his eyes free from the onslaught, and he glanced back out at the figure of a lone man currently walking along a single path that dotted around the outskirts of the clearing.

His clothes were casual; jeans, a jacket and a cap. But his aura signified something else. Templar.

He looked back at Clay, and the expression on the man's face indicated that he'd tried using Eagle Vision himself… and had been met with similar results.

"How long's he been here?" Desmond asked.

"An hour now. Rebecca grabbed a hold of me just before I was going to finish off with the surveillance inside and I've been out here ever since trying to watch what he's doing. He's clearly waiting for backup… either that or he's trying to see if we'll come out."

Desmond swore violently under his breath, looking back at the figure of the man as he strolled back and forth.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" He heard Clay muse from beside him. Desmond gave a thin smile.

"That he's the same guy who fucked with the cameras before we went to Brazil?" _And whose tracks we saw around the clearing here last time?_

Clay gave an answering smile which indicated that yes, Desmond _was_ in fact thinking exactly what he was thinking.

"What should we do?" Desmond muttered. Clay mulled this one over for a bit.

"Interrogate him?" He looked at the younger man. Desmond held his gaze, brown eyes staring calmly into blue.

"Right in front of the temple – the one place we _don't_ want Abstergo to be right now?"

Clay shrugged his shoulders.

"Do you have a better plan?"

Desmond looked back at the Templar agent, already making to rise from the uncomfortable crouching position he'd been in as he did so.

"Nope. Let's do it."

Clay's lips pulled into a wry smirk and he dusted himself off as he stood. They moved quietly, as silently as they could through the high shoots of grass they navigated around. Thankfully the soil was damp enough to cover up the crunches of their shoes against the earth, and the agent had his back turned to them, looking as if he was preparing to glance at his watch to check the time.

Unfortunately for him, he was so enthralled by what he was doing that he never noticed the two figures drawing up quickly behind him.

Not until it was too late, anyway.

"Hi."

The man jumped, spinning around when Clay spoke up calmly, lifting his hand in a wave as the agent stumbled back a step. Then Clay's smirk dropped, and his hand pulled back, clenching tightly into a fist. The Templar's world went black as he was knocked out cold with a swift, heavy punch to the face. He fell to the earth with a _thud_ , and Clay sighed as he flexed his fingers and went to grab him by the shoulders, already hoisting him upwards so he could carry him.

Desmond strode forwards, grabbing the man's ankles and following Clay's lead, the pair working together to pull the unconscious man towards the shade under a nearby oak tree. They deposited him against the roots of the tree, the pair now kneeling down beside him to divest him of any weapons he may have been carrying.

"Did you have to knock him out?" Desmond asked, looking amused despite everything else as he dug into the man's pockets. _Aha_ – his eyes narrowed and he pulled out a short retractable knife, studying it momentarily before dropping it against the grass. Clay looked up at him, shrugging his shoulders.

"Didn't _have_ to. I wanted to, though."

Desmond flashed a wide grin at that, and Clay chuckled. They continued in silence for another minute or two, having located a handgun coupled with a silencer and magazine inside the man's jacket, as well as two more knives in a specialised compartment in the man's belt.

"Someone's prepared," Clay muttered, dropping the weapons in the grass alongside the knife that Desmond had placed there earlier. Desmond murmured his agreement, frowning as he looked at the watch the agent was wearing. He unfastened it, studying it carefully before holding it out to the blond.

"That look like a radio to you? On the side there?"

Clay took the watch, glancing over the side of the ivory face and nodding as he saw what looked remarkably like two buttons along the side… as well as an indent which easily mimicked the kind of microphone slot they'd so often see on small electronic devices.

"He won't be needing that." And he threw the watch away. Standing up now after having determined the man had been relieved of all identifiable weapons as well as means of communication, the pair looked down at him. It was a rather pitiful sight he made, slumped over the tree root as he was.

Also quite fitting, actually.

All they had to do now was wait until he came around. Sighing heavily, Desmond rubbed his brow, then cast a glance at the man beside him.

"You look as tired as I feel," he muttered. Clay blinked, looking at Desmond and scoffing faintly.

"Thank your dad."

Desmond dropped his hand from his face.

"Oh for fuck's sake…"

"It wasn't anything bad, relax," Clay waved it off. "He called me over shortly after you got into the animus and he started telling me he was still pissed off I never told him about Mark here. Oh, and get this," he grinned, "apparently he doesn't think I'll be around long enough to keep sticking up for your sorry ass. You apparently don't want me hiding in Mark's body for the rest of my life," he snickered.

Desmond actually snorted at that.

"What'd you tell him?"

A conspiratorial glimmer seemed to shine in Clay's eyes, and he looked rather smug indeed as his lips formed a slow smirk.

"That he didn't know you that well."

Desmond smiled. That was true enough. He was about to reply when he stopped, Clay's choice of words causing him to pause momentarily. His smile slowly dropped and he gazed back at the blond, studying him for a moment. Then he looked around him.

No one was out here. This might just be as good a time as any.

"Speaking of…"

Clay looked back at him, the look on his face clearly telling Desmond that he'd been expecting this. He crossed his arms over his chest, giving him his full attention. He looked sombre, all of a sudden. Serious. Desmond could almost taste the tension for how palpable it was.

"I'm all ears."

Desmond was just about to open his mouth to speak up when he was stopped by the agent on the ground groaning faintly, his fingers twitching by his sides as he no doubt started to come to. He sighed. Clay chuckled lightly, looking part relieved and part irritated by the interruption as he grasped Desmond's shoulder.

"Save it for later."

Desmond nodded, not really being able to do anything else other than leave it at that. He watched as Clay lightly kicked the stirring agent in the foot, the blond shoving his hands into his pockets as he let out an exasperated sigh.

"C'mon sunshine, wake up."

The agent blinked, once, twice, and then groggily glanced around him when he managed to keep his eyes open for long enough, though he remained unfocused as he slowly lifted his head, no doubt trying to piece together the image before him of two men standing over him.

One minute passed, then two, and then the Templar's eyes widened and he made to scramble upright. What stopped him was Desmond reaching forwards to push him back down, his hand planting firmly in the centre of his chest.

"Don't move," he muttered lowly. The agent gulped, nodding his head quickly as he trembled. Desmond pulled back.

"W-what do you want with me?" The man squeaked out. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, give or take a year or so off Desmond's age. His hazel eyes were darting from one man to the next, and his hair was a dark brown, almost black from what they could see under the cap he wore.

"Some answers for starters," Clay announced as he crouched down in front of him, eyes narrowed as he held the man's frightened gaze.

"I don't know anything!" The man cried out. Clay nodded.

"Of course you don't. Which is why you're going to tell us anyway," he continued quietly. He lifted up his hand. "Or I could punch you in the face again, your choice."

The man gulped, looking down and seeing his weapons discarded on the grass. He was trapped, defenceless, and he had nowhere to run. He swore under his breath and nodded quickly, darting his eyes back up to look at Clay again. Clay smiled.

"Good."

"How'd you find out about this place?" Desmond asked, stepping forwards. The man looked up at him.

"Th-the boss told me to do recon here… he reckoned he'd found the location of an assassin hideout…"

"Who was the boss and how did he find out?"

"D-Daniel Cross…" The agent blinked when Desmond and Clay shared a unanimous groan at that. Cross had told them he'd had nothing to do with the agents tracking the farmland around the temple... it would appear he'd been lying. Like so many other things. Apparently sensing their disquiet the agent before them gulped, forcing his mouth to part again so he could continue, his voice still shaken and uneven as he spoke. "Don't know who told him about it… didn't say…"

"Cross is dead," Clay spoke up. "Why are you still out here?"

The agent blinked, confusion now seeming to replace the fear in his eyes as he froze where he sat.

"He's dead…?"

"Answer the question," Desmond urged, not wanting to go into detail about that right now. The man flinched.

"I was trying to call him… we heard that Warren Vidic had been terminated so I wanted to know if I still had to be here…"

Desmond locked eyes on Clay again. So the news of Vidic's death had circled around, but not Cross's? That said a good thing or two about how Abstergo valued their failed test subject.

_Poor bastard,_ Desmond thought, though he didn't particularly feel any sorrow for the man.

"We'll make it easy for you, kid," Clay said. "You _don't_ have to be here."

The man gulped again, seeing Clay narrow his eyes at him once more and he nodded quickly, his bottom lip trembling all the while. It looked like he was about to piss himself at any given second.

"Were you the one who interfered with the cameras we'd set up here?" Desmond asked. The man looked up at him, pausing for half a second before nodding again. A bit less quickly, too. It was almost like he'd just resigned himself to his fate.

"Didn't want you knowing we'd set up a patrol route around the area."

"Where's this patrol route?"

The agent refused to answer. Desmond cast an uneasy look over at Clay, the blond appearing just as visibly put-off by the lack of response. Seeing that they'd reached a particularly sensitive topic, they decided to skirt around it, hoping to glean it out of the man slowly. If they just went straight in and demanded right now, they'd have less of a chance of getting anywhere. Worm your way through your enemy's comfort zone – that was a little tool of the trade. One which worked a surprising majority of the time, too.

"You happen to know anything about what it is you're standing out here all day waiting for inside that cave there?" Clay asked, his voice lightening as if he was making cheerful conversation. The man slowly locked eyes on him.

"Not a damn clue."

There was no lie in his eyes. Clay almost resisted the urge to sigh in relief. That is until the agent spoke up again.

"All I know is that it's some kind of temple the Precursor race built."

That comment promptly made Clay tense up, Desmond doing likewise. They shared an uneasy glance. If Abstergo knew this… then they had something to worry about.

"And what would Abstergo want with this temple?" Desmond asked quietly. The man blinked at him.

"I never said I was with—"

"Please, and you're not talking to the two assassins you've been sent to track from the start who'll kill you the second you try to make an escape," Clay scoffed. The man froze, all fear in his eyes now fading away, being replaced with something that could only equal a sharp look of anger.

" _Fine,_ " he hissed. "You want to know what it is we want?! We know about the artefacts you stole. They need to be used to harness the energy inside that temple that the First Civilisation built when the world suffered its first solar maximum. We want those artefacts _back_ , as well as that Apple you obtained from the Colosseum in October. Time's ticking, and the world will end in _exactly_ six days if you don't hand the Piece of Eden directly over to us, Subject Seventeen," and as he said those words, he locked eyes directly on Desmond.

Desmond fell silent, Clay's eyes meanwhile narrowing further in anger.

"You're still going to go ahead with that satellite launch?" Desmond arched a brow. "Even though Vidic's dead?"

The man snorted.

"He was only an overseer of the project. He wasn't directly involved with its development. You think we're going to simply stand down just because some batshit doc who threw people into an animus for a living kicked the bucket? Not a fucking chance."

Desmond gave a thin smile, Clay doing likewise as he stood back up again.

"Well that was enlightening," he mused, glancing at Desmond. Desmond nodded his agreement.

"So about that patrol route…"

The agent's eyes narrowed.

"You honestly think I'm going to be stupid enough to tell you that?"

"Well you've been stupid enough to admit to everything else so far," Clay pointed out. The agent laughed bitterly. It was then that he struggled to get to his feet, and he'd moved before either Desmond or Clay could react.

He ducked down, grabbed his gun and clicked it, holding it to his head. And he fired. No hesitation. No remorse or fear in his eyes.

Swearing loudly, the assassins jumped back, covering their faces with their hands as blood and brain matter sprayed from the lifeless corpse that now slumped back down against the earth, the gun dropping haphazardly onto a patch of grass beside the body.

" _Shit!"_ Clay growled, glaring at the corpse and throwing his hands up in exasperation. "The _fuck_ did he have to go do that for?!"

"... Doesn't matter," Desmond managed to choke out, shaking his head quickly and turning his back to try and avoid looking at the sorry remains. "He probably knew he'd die anyway if he somehow made it back alive…"

"Or if we didn't get to him first…" Clay finished off slowly. Desmond nodded, eyes still wide and the sound of his blood pounding through his ears. 

"Exactly."

He felt sick to the stomach. His heart was racing. He didn't think he'd be able to sleep for a week. He looked up when he felt Clay grab hold of his arm.

"C'mon," he muttered lowly. Desmond was only far too eager to comply and he fell into step beside the man, the pair of them tearing into a sprint back towards the cave. They had to tell everyone about this. Whatever this 'patrol route' that agent had been talking about was… it could only mean one thing. Abstergo were going to arrive, right here on their doorstep sometime soon. It could be today, it could be tomorrow, or hell – it could even be on the day the world was set to end.

But they had to act now, and they had to act quickly. They needed to find that key.

"You get back in the animus and I'll tell everyone about what that bastard said," Clay spoke up quickly over the sound of their footsteps as they raced down the entrance tunnel, their feet flying over dirt and rock. Desmond nodded, finding no problems with that. "D'you think you'll be able to grab hold of that key's location today?"

"I think so," Desmond panted faintly, running along with Clay out into the inner sanctum now. Clay shot him a look.

"Good." He smiled faintly and clapped him on the back, Desmond not bothering to slow down until he saw where Rebecca stood waiting for them. The look on her face clearly indicated she wanted to know exactly what the hell was going on, but Desmond cut her off before she could say anything, pushing past her on direct course to the animus.

"Is the animus still ready to go?!"

Rebecca blinked, Desmond already lying down on it.

"What? Yeah, but—"

"No buts, I have to go in _now!_ " Desmond thrust out his arm, gritting his teeth when Rebecca roused herself and quickly grabbed the nearby IV cord, inserting it into his arm again. Desmond felt familiar unconsciousness sweep up to claim him as Rebecca planted herself down at the computer nearby, and for the second time today he slipped back into the virtual world that rose to greet him a split second later.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" William barked as he strode up, having heard the commotion from the bridge. Clay looked up at him, panting a little as he shook his head, glancing back at Desmond's reclining form for a second before indicating Shaun and Rebecca should pay attention as well as William to what he had to say.

"No time – we've been compromised," he blurted out. Shaun's eyes widened, and Rebecca's jaw dropped. William meanwhile looked angry – almost as angry as he'd looked last night when he'd been yelling at Clay.

" _WHAT?!_ " He roared.

"Was it that person we saw on the camera?" Rebecca called out, biting her lip nervously. Clay nodded.

"He was an Abstergo agent. We interrogated him… he was the one who fucked with our cameras just before we left for Brazil," he explained quickly, the words falling so fast from his lips he almost didn't know what he was saying. Everyone else apparently managed to understand him though, so that was something. "He was sent here by Cross… he knew about the temple. About the artefacts. He's called for backup."

"Did he give a specific indication as to when they would arrive?" William asked. Clay shook his head.

"No, but given the fact that the sun's due to cook us all alive in less than six days I'd say we can expect them any time from now until last minute. So if they _do_ somehow manage to stop for a visit we can kiss our fucking asses goodbye."

"Where's the agent now?" Shaun asked, trying to stay calm but failing. Clay looked at him.

"Dead. He shot himself before we could learn anything else."

" _Shit,_ " Rebecca hissed.

"Do we have a backup plan ready in case this all goes even _more_ tragically wrong?" Shaun queried.

"Run like hell," Rebecca stated blankly. Shaun sighed.

"We might have to."

"They weren't specifically interested in the temple itself," Clay continued, drawing everyone's attention again. "They want the Apple. That's the only thing they have their minds set on."

"Do they still think they can somehow use it in a satellite?" William asked. Clay nodded.

"Apparently."

"Would it work, d'you think?" Rebecca asked, her tone cautious, wary. Clay paused for a moment. Would it work, indeed? That was the question.

"I don't think it will, no," he answered slowly, looking at the raven haired woman. "I mean if the First Civ couldn't do it..."

"So they're basically just going to wait for the world to be destroyed so they can actually save the world from _not_ being destroyed… even though it _will_ be destroyed regardless?" Shaun spoke up, a dry smile twitching at his lips. "That's bloody sad. And hilarious. But mostly just _sad_."

"It won't be destroyed," William interjected. "That's why we're finding this key. Juno wouldn't have sent Desmond here if there wasn't a way for him to stop this nonsense." He looked at his son, and then back at Clay. "Has she said anything else to him? Given him any indication about what she wants this key used _for_ , other than opening that gate?"

Clay sighed, shaking his head.

"Not that I'm aware of." In one way he was thankful for that, seeing as it meant that Desmond had one less thing to worry about on his plate… but at the same time… he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Terribly wrong. He quickly pushed those thoughts from his brain, not needing any more negativity to deal with right now on top of all this other bullshit. One thing at a time, here.

William took a step forwards and Clay quickly cut him off before he could even open his mouth, as if guessing what his mentor was going to say next.

"But Desmond thinks he's got a good lead on that key and if all goes well he should have a location for us by the end of today, if not a little sooner. So _don't_ , Bill, for the love of god keep on yelling at him to hurry his ass up in there!" He hissed.

Shaun shared a quick look with Rebecca, the two taking a small step back as if tasting the hostility in the air around them. William froze where he stood, his eyes narrowed. But then he did something Clay wasn't expecting. He took a step back himself. And he nodded.

Clay almost couldn't believe it.

"Rebecca, keep an eye on that video feed up above," William ordered, the woman nodding her understanding and turning back to her cameras. "Shaun, follow Desmond's progress in the animus." Shaun waved his hand, already indicating that he'd been in the middle of doing so already.

William took another step closer, and he lowered his voice as he looked directly at Clay.

"Find out where that last power source goes and put it in place. Then I want you back down here to help Shaun. I'm counting on you, Clay."

Clay froze, a wary expression entering his eyes.

"The last time you said that to me I was sent off to Abstergo..."

William offered a somewhat pained smile.

"Let's just be thankful the circumstances are far different this time." And he clapped him on the shoulder. Then he walked over to his son.

Clay was left standing there, in complete and utter shock. But he shook himself out of it, looking over at Desmond and then tearing off down the corridor towards his room. He raced through the door, looking all over for the bag that Desmond usually carried with him outside. He found it in the corner. He hurried over, pulling the zip back and finding the glowing artefact nestled neatly within. He pulled it out, ignored the heavy weight of it in his palm, and he ran back out to the sanctum where everyone else was gathered.

_Alright… where do I put you?_

He looked around and slipped into his second sight, hoping that his meagre grasp of Eagle Vision would be enough to help him locate the final panel for where he needed to place this power source. His head hurt, and his eyes stung as muted grey met him, but he found it – a faint, glowing gold straight up ahead. It seemed to be in an annexe which could be reached by the stairs that William had pulled him behind to talk to him earlier on. Closing his eyes and focusing on returning his sight back to normal he blinked and felt relieved to see the world in normal colour once again.

He jogged over towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. They'd crumbled into two halfway up and he had to jump the gap that met him, but it wasn't unmanageable and he was able to continue as quick as he could towards another set of stairs that wound round towards a right-hand side. The walls around him were etched with the same markings that dotted the walls of the rest of the temple, and as he crossed the threshold into the annexe chamber beyond, he paused momentarily as he found himself facing rows upon rows of glowing gold cube-like columns.

This was different to the rest of the chambers he'd come across when he'd deposited the other two power sources; where those rooms were either filled with stray bits of wire or crumbled structures of some kind, this room seemed to be complete. No signs of structural damage. Just these glowing golden columns.

He reached out a hand, running it over the side of the first one he walked past. It felt cool to the touch, as if it was made of a similar substance to the gate that barred the bridge and the pedestal beyond. The air up here was surprisingly warmer, too. Frowning, he pulled his hand away and continued, edging past the columns and beams in the hopes that he could catch sight of the panel he'd need to slot the artefact in. He found it – a few metres up ahead.

Navigating around the (seemingly) randomly placed columns, he sighed as he approached the empty metallic indentation etched neatly into the wall ahead. He could see the view of the temple down below, the annexe up here providing him with a means to overlook the entire bridge. He paused for a moment, taking the opportunity offered to him to look down and watch as Shaun bent over his computer, typing furiously away. Rebecca was talking to him, their hushed voices barely audible. William was standing guard over Desmond, the man for once looking like he'd finally gotten that stick out of his ass as he sipped from his coffee and waited.

And lastly Clay's gaze dropped to Desmond himself, the man still seated in the animus, unmoving, looking like he was barely breathing from how high Clay was up here. He bit his lip, hoping that he'd be able to find that key soon, as much as he hated trying to hurry him up. But their lives were depending on it now.

And though he knew that he could always count on Desmond, it still didn't exactly quell the worry that pierced his gut and made it hard to breathe.

He sighed heavily, finally tearing his gaze away for long enough to shove the artefact in its slot. Then he stepped back, and he waited.

He wasn't the only one who watched as faint tremors rippled through the temple walls, the bridge screeching in protest as it lurched and slowly inched the last few metres forwards it needed to finally connect with the barrier that, up until now, had obstructed its path. The gate glowed faintly, the blue glass seeming to brighten as if sunlight had hit it from behind. Even from where he was standing, Clay could see the lock on its surface glisten and beckon for the final piece of the puzzle. He saw William, Shaun and Rebecca stare at it, all glancing at one another as no doubt the same thought crossed their minds: _Three down, one more to go._

Now all they needed was that key.

He ran a hand through his hair, stepping back from the panel for a moment to rest his back against the nearby wall. Clay closed his eyes, groaning lightly.

He was tired. He needed to rest. But he couldn't, especially seeing as Abstergo were up their asses.

_What I'd give for a holiday right about now._

He slowly opened his eyes again, and it was perhaps an act of irony that the first thing he was greeted with as he did so was the sight of Desmond still strapped down in the animus.

And that was another thing. They still needed to have that 'talk'.

He knew exactly what it was that Desmond wanted to ask him about when they were outside. And if Desmond was going to wake up and come up here to ask him right now, Clay would have the exact same answer for him as he would have had for Desmond if they'd talked about this outside, or when they'd woken up that morning.

_I don't know._

He pushed away from the wall, rubbing his eyes again and taking another moment for himself to try and relax before heading back down there.

_I just don't know._

* * *

It was with a sombre look and a long drawn-out sigh that Desmond rose from the animus when Rebecca pulled him out three hours later. As he rubbed his eyes and swung his legs over the side in preparation to stand up, he knew that even though he hadn't found the amulet's specific location as of yet... at least he _did_ know who was in possession of it. Charles Lee.

He was so close now. Just one more session and he'd have it. He was sure of it. It was then that a bitter smile drew over his lips. He'd thought that earlier on, too. And look where it got him.

"We'll take a break for the night," William sighed as Desmond stood. He didn't question his father's choice, rather he embraced it. He was tired. His heart was still pounding from the shocking turn of events that had happened prior to him jumping inside the animus again. Not to mention his head was swimming with the violent torrent of emotions that Connor had been subjected to as his own father fell to his blade.

He looked around him, blinking as his eyes darted from person to person.

"Where's Clay?" He found himself asking. William lifted his head, momentarily looking away from the video feed Shaun was sorting through.

"He just left to head back up there," he replied, jerking his thumb in the direction of an annexe up above. "Said something about needing to show you something when you were done." Desmond nodded absentmindedly, already setting a brisk walk to where the broken staircase sat crumbling away.

He reached the stairs, leaping up when he met the small gap in the middle, and he navigated his way around the right-hand corridor he found himself faced with. He didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, not even batting an eye when he came across the rows of gold pillars which stretched from ceiling to floor. He was instead focused on Clay who he saw leaning against the wall up above, the man looking like he was gazing down below at the bridge, stuck in his own thoughts.

He looked over at Desmond when he drew up next to him, and he offered a faint smile.

"I'll admit I never thought it'd be so hard to find a key."

Desmond gave a short laugh, striding forwards to lean down over the railing to have a look at the bridge below.

"You and me both."

He heard movement beside him and he turned his head to see Clay walking forwards, the blond leaning over the railing himself and eliciting a sigh as he folded his arms in front of him. He looked distracted, his blue eyes seeming to be clouded over in deep thought as he watched Shaun and Rebecca talk down below, William already walking over towards the computer he had set up near the bridge.

"If you had something to ask me you might as well get it over with now," he muttered. "Dunno when we'll get our next chance."

Desmond sighed. He _had_ been hoping to put it off for a bit longer… but Clay was right. He looked at his fingers and flexed them a little as he ran them over the edge of the rock before him. He wondered where he should even start.

"D'you think I did right? In killing Vidic?" He asked quietly. He felt Clay's eyes on him, and as he looked calmly up at the man he saw that that question was the last thing the blond had been expecting him to ask. He frowned lightly, studying the younger man for a moment before eventually shrugging and returning his gaze to the others down below.

"Bit of a redundant question, don't you think?" His lips twitched upwards into something reminiscent of a smile. Desmond chuckled.

"I know, I know. But... that guy today..." He answered bitterly, his mind plagued by how easily that man had been prepared to take his own life. One minute he'd been standing there… the next… he shuddered, feeling bile threaten to rise in his throat.

_They're crazy,_ he mused darkly. _All of them._

What cause was worth killing yourself over, if Abstergo claimed they wanted to _save_ lives instead? He feared he'd never get an answer. And the more he thought about it… the more he realised he didn't want to.

"Whether Vidic was going to die or not, it didn't matter in the end," Clay answered quietly, as if he somehow knew where Desmond's thoughts were centred. "But if you're asking me _personally_ , I'm glad he's dead. I mean what he did to you, what he did to me... to all those other fifteen poor bastards he took and threw into that animus... but he didn't run Abstergo. He was just a scientist. If you want to take down the Templars you need to–"

"Take down the Grand Master," Desmond finished off, smiling grimly. Clay nodded.

"Exactly."

"Who _is_ the Grand Master?" Desmond asked. Clay stepped back, his eyes clouding over in thought.

"Alan Rikkin's the CEO... might be a good place to start?" He suggested. Desmond smiled thinly.

"And someone else would just come up and take his place."

Clay glanced at him again, a knowing look in his eyes.

"Now you know why it doesn't matter."

Desmond chuckled faintly, sighing and tapping his hands idly at the railing he was leaning against. There was a brief silence which settled across the pair, as both men mulled over thoughts about what to say. They were both avoiding the one question which mattered though, the one reason why they were both here, alone in this room out of sight and out of earshot of the others.

It was like playing a precarious game of tug of war - both sides wanting to win, or in this case both men wanting to reach out and speak... but at the same time... one wrong pull and everything would come crashing down, and they'd destroy what it was they'd each been so carefully working towards dragging themselves ever closer to.

But it just had to be handled, pulled at a little at a time.

Just a little.

"So..."

Clay smiled thinly.

"So."

"I'm not gonna lie... I treated you like shit yesterday," Desmond began slowly. "I mean you were at this real low point after all... but then... I dunno. Did I mean to do any of... well, _that?_ Can't say. But I _do_ feel like kicking myself over yelling at you for wanting to look out for my sorry ass."

"Oh for god's sake Desmond." Clay rolled his eyes, but his tone gave away no sense of irritation as he fixed the man with a half-grin. "Relax. You honestly think I'm gonna chew your head off over that? Haven't done it yet, have I?"

"Well, no. Not yet," Desmond answered, a slow grin of his own splitting across his face. Clay smirked, shrugging his shoulders.

"There you go. I will say this though," and here he paused, a thoughtful look entering his blue eyes for a moment. "Thinking back on it now, I didn't mean to say any of that either. That stuff about wanting to go back into the animus. I'll level with you - I'd completely forgotten about it when I woke up. Goes to show how much I was paying attention to my own words last night if that was the case. But hell I deserved you chewing me out over it."

Desmond didn't know how to respond to that, so he did the next best thing. He offered another faint smile before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. He still didn't feel a hundred per cent reassured... but Clay was making it pretty damn clear that he didn't want to go into any more details. So he let it slide. And he finally drew up the courage to ask him what he really needed to.

"You're just gonna say you don't know, aren't you?" Desmond spoke up after a long minute of silence. Clay gave a scoff of amusement.

"Damn it Miles you know me too well," he chuckled. Desmond grinned, looking down at the gate at the far end of the temple. There was another lapse of silence until Clay broke it, locking his eyes on the man beside him.

"Do you regret it?"

Desmond sighed again. There was no easy way to answer that question. Did he? In some regards, yes, he did. But it wasn't because of what they'd _done_ , per se… it was more along the lines of regret for… what, how long it took? The fact that it was wrong? Nothing would be able to justify what the hell had happened to make him yell at Clay like that last night in the first place?

"You asked me something similar back on the Island…" He muttered, skirting the question for a minute. He met Clay's gaze, and as he did so, he could remember fragments of that very conversation flickering through his mind right now.

" _Do you regret anything, Desmond?"_

" _Like what?"_

" _Running away? Leaving your parents behind? Finding a shit job and pretending to be productive? What's it like spending your whole life avoiding hard decisions?"_

If the look in Clay's eyes right now was anything to go by, he wasn't the only one who remembered that conversation in all its entirety. An expectant look crossed his face, as if he was silently reminding Desmond that this here, right now, was in fact a hard decision. And he couldn't spend his life avoiding this one forever.

So Desmond finally made his choice. And he answered honestly.

"No."

Clay arched a brow, apparently not having expected that. He turned his head, glancing back down at the bridge below them. He gave a wistful chuckle.

"Well, alright then."

Desmond scoffed.

"That's it? 'Alright then'?"

"Well what more do you want me to say?" Clay frowned. "You're looking at someone who's regretted more things in his life than you could even begin to _dream_ of."

Desmond straightened himself up, turning around and propping his elbows on the railing as he leant his back against it.

"So you're saying you regret this, then?"

Clay sighed, closing his eyes for a minute as he rubbed his hand over his face. He didn't answer for a long time, and Desmond was just about to shake his head and walk away when he was stopped.

"No. No I don't. Hell, I could write out a list for you of all the things I liked about it. But... now that it comes down to it... what I _do_ regret, Desmond, is the fact that the entire world is falling to pieces and we're expecting to find answers for something that probably won't even matter in six days anyway." He threw his hands up a little, letting them fall limply back by his side as he pushed away from the railing and turned to face the younger man. He looked conflicted.

"I haven't put any proper thought into this all day and now that I finally have the chance to I'm seeing issues. Because what's this all going to matter after the sun blows up, huh? Either we live or we don't. If we don't, then we clearly don't need to worry about that. But if we _do_ somehow make it out of this one alive, where would any of this go then? It was… it was this one… fucking _crazy_ spur of the moment thing, ok? You needed it, I needed it, and that's that."

Desmond mulled those words over, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"Maybe." And that was all he said. Clay rolled his eyes.

Desmond laughed despite himself, drawing the man's exasperated attention back on him.

"Clay, we're _assassins_ , for Christ's sake. If you're saying that this isn't something normal, I sure as hell fucking agree with you. But since when has anything been remotely _normal_ for people like us since the beginning of time?"

Clay paused, seeing the truth in those words and simply sighing as he nodded.

"Alright, yes, but—"

"The way I see it," Desmond cut him off and he jerked his head in the direction of the others still crowded around on the bridge down below, "they don't need to know. Right? We don't need to feel obligated to try and make this out for more than it is. It was one night, ok? I get that. No regrets. None. We're not going to get anywhere if we start trying to scramble around for some kind of explanation for why we did what we did. We were both on edge and we needed to just let ourselves go after all that shit that happened in Brazil onwards and it felt good, and in _that_ moment, it felt right. _Fuck_ it felt right... but any other time? Probably not a fucking chance."

He was watching Clay's face carefully, as if trying to pick up on any small sign that his words had registered some small truth in the man's eyes. As it turns out they did. And Clay regarded him closely, his lips pulling up into a faint smile as he sighed and shook his head, moving to stand in front of him now.

"You're a good liar, Des."

Desmond blinked.

"What?"

Clay chuckled bitterly.

"Your mouth is moving and saying one thing, but your words are telling me something else entirely."

Desmond felt confusion grip at his brain. He narrowed his eyes.

"The fuck are you—"

"You'll see what I mean." And he stepped a little closer now, almost close enough so Desmond could feel the warmth of his chest. He straightened up a little more, ready to push Clay back if need be. At least… that _was_ the plan. Clay still managed to step closer anyway so his lips were nearly brushing Desmond's own. He froze.

"Whatever you do," Clay whispered, "just roll with it until I'm done."

And Desmond allowed his eyes to slide shut, even as Clay moved in and closed the distance. It wasn't a particularly long kiss. Nor was it anything like the angered, desperate exchanges they'd shared the previous night. It was just simple, slight. Testing the waters. Desmond barely even felt Clay's mouth on his own for how light the pressure against his lips was.

He'd started to pull back, and Desmond frowned. He pressed in, at least wanting to feel _something_ damn it – and he felt the smile on Clay's mouth as he simply let Desmond deepen the kiss, just for a little bit longer… his hands reached up, and Desmond laced them through Clay's hair, pulling him closer. Instinctively.

Then Clay's mouth was gone, pulled back completely and Desmond was left swearing something scathing under his breath even as Clay smirked and pressed his forehead lightly against his, lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

_Well played_ , Desmond thought, throwing those ice blue eyes a considerably unimpressed glare. A glare which dropped immediately the second the realisation of what they'd just silently admitted to each other sunk in.

"I think we may have a problem…" He murmured after a moment. Clay scoffed.

"You think?" He arched a brow, and Desmond sighed as he dropped the façade and simply let his shoulders slump. _Jesus Christ. What happened to make me so fucked up._

He should have rephrased that.

_What_ didn't _happen?_

Well, whatever. It had happened and that was that.

"So, should we… give this a shot? I guess?" He found himself asking, sighing as Clay slowly dropped his palm from his cheek. The blond watched him for a minute, as if trying to see if Desmond was somehow going to change his mind. Seeing nothing but expectancy in his eyes, he shrugged and leant back down to brush his lips over the younger man's again, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a slow smile.

"Why not."

Desmond chuckled despite himself, and this time he didn't wait for Clay to kiss him first.


	20. Chapter 20

They'd spent another ten minutes in that room, gazing out over the bridge, both left to their own thoughts. Their lips tingled from the second kiss they'd shared, and then the third, and then the fourth after that, but neither of them were the type to let it get to their heads.

It wasn't anything special. It was just a kiss – plain and simple. And that was that. But it was enough. They'd pulled away after the fourth time and resumed leaning over the railing to look at the other three still gathered by the computers below, running cables and video feeds everywhere. They stood there a while longer and then they'd left, walking back down the stairs, hands in their pockets and faces blank as they approached the others down below. William looked up and waved them over.

"You might want to take a look at this boys," he said sombrely. They exchanged a glance and peered over Shaun's shoulder as the Brit clicked a button on the screen of his computer, the recording he'd selected beginning to play.

"— _Terror strikes the globe: the world is in turmoil over the growing threat of a series of solar flares being released almost daily from the sun. What started out as a simple everyday occurrence has now increased in size and magnitude, and world leaders alike are urging citizens to take urgent precaution to do what they can to combat the heatwaves sweeping across the planet—"_

Shaun clicked another button, and a new tape began to play.

"— _Governments say they will likely have to enter a global 'lock-down', though they remain assured they can fully combat the threat—"_

Another click, another tape.

"— _Religious experts are warning that the current state of the solar maximum is a disaster both equalling and exceeding a destruction estimated to be of biblical proportions—"_

"— _Warns that the 'end is nigh', conspiracy theorists are concerned we may actually be on the verge of an apocalyptic era—"_

"— _The 'wrath of God'—"_

"And it goes on," Shaun sighed as he closed the files and sat back in his chair. A heavy silence fell over them, no one daring to speak for a moment.

"The 'wrath of God', eh?" Clay mused, breaking the silence. He chuckled drily. "Probably not too far from the truth."

"Whatever they're calling it… the fact remains that we're screwed," Rebecca added. She bit her lip nervously, looking for once afraid and unsure of herself. Desmond took a step back, running a palm over his forehead. He needed some air. He needed time to think—

_No. I need to get in the animus._

"Hook me back up in there," he blurted out. He didn't react when he saw eyes raise to glance warily at him, Clay especially.

"Son—"

"Time's ticking, dad. The planet's roasting alive out there. I need to find that key before Abstergo gets here," Desmond cut over his father, lifting his eyes to fix William with a steady stare. He couldn't imagine why his father would ever protest against that, seeing as he'd done nothing but urge him to hurry his ass up in there since they first arrived at the temple anyway.

But that was exactly what William did. And Desmond was left gaping as his father boldly shook his head, reaching out to clasp his shoulder in a gentle yet firm grip.

"Son… you need to take a break, that's what you need to do."

Desmond blinked, finally rousing himself out of his stupor.

"What?! Dad, are you even _listening_ to me—"

"Desmond, you're distressed. We all are. But for _god's sake_ just rest a little bit longer! We have the upper hand here."

Desmond continued to gape at him, jaw dropped and incredulity thick in his eyes. He saw movement out the corner of his eye and Clay took a step forwards.

"Des, believe it or not… he's actually right."

Desmond just stared at him, his eyes searching Clay's as if to somehow find any sign that the blond was somehow either pulling his leg or he was actually just as confused by William's sudden change in attitude as he was. He saw that it was the latter.

He exhaled slowly, looking back at his father. He held his gaze for a long time, simply staring at him.

"What are you playing at?" He asked warily. William sighed, reaching out to grasp his son by the shoulder, at the same time lifting his head to cast glances at the three others standing and watching, waiting for answers just as much as Desmond was.

"Desmond can I have a word?"

Desmond paused, sharing another quick glance with Clay, the blond echoing his uncertainty with a mistrusting gaze of his own. But not wanting to keep his father waiting, more so out of genuine curiosity for whatever it was that he was about to say than anything else, Desmond excused himself for a moment as he cleared his throat and followed as William guided him a few feet away, just out of earshot.

"Dad?" He questioned, following his father into one of the nearby temple corridors. William turned around as soon as they'd passed the threshold of a broken archway, and he sighed as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"I've been meaning to offer you an apology, son."

Desmond blinked, his mind momentarily going blank.

_Wait… what?_

"Apology for wha—"

"For how I've been treating you," William interjected sharply, the man sighing. He gazed down at the ground for a moment, and when he eventually lifted his head again Desmond was shocked to see an emotion in the man's eyes that he had never seen before.

Regret.

He didn't know how to react – he could only stand there, frozen in disbelief.

"You're my son, Desmond. I _love_ you. And… the way I've been pushing you is the way that no father should ever push their sons… especially when the weight of the world is resting on their shoulders." William's moustached lips pulled into a faint smile, and the pain was clear in his blue eyes as he spoke; his voice was clipped, almost choking up with emotion. It was a vulnerable side of his father that Desmond had never ever been subjected to, and the more he stood here and listened… the more he found he couldn't take it.

He sighed.

"Dad, I—"

"No, Desmond I… I need to say this. I spent every day of the past nine years trying to find you when you left… we never stopped thinking about you, your mother and me. And now this is happening and… well, you _saved my life_ for starters. You've done nothing but work your ass into the ground trying to find us this key. You've been needing support where I should be giving it and so far all I've done is give you shit. I'm not a good father. Never have been. Never will be. But… you have to understand... if I've been like this it's because I'm scared of what will happen if we all fail here! Alright? I'm scared, Desmond. There, I said it. I'm scared for you. What will happen to you if everything goes wrong… if I don't tell you this now, when am I going to get a chance to say to you I'm sorry if there's the possibility I'll never see you again?"

Desmond's throat felt tight, and he swallowed the thick lump in his throat to the best of his ability. He tried his best to smile.

"I'm not going to die, dad... not by Abstergo, not by…" He trailed off. He was about to say Juno's name, but something made him pause at the last second. He wasn't so sure about that. He cleared his throat, shaking his head and slumping his shoulders as he sighed again.

"I'm sorry too." The words were so quiet he could barely even hear them as they fell from his lips, but what surprised him the most at that moment was how much he meant it. He looked back up at his father, trying to smile as best he could. William was simply watching him, the man having fallen into silence.

Eventually his lips pulled upwards into something reminiscent of a smile of his own, and he held out his arms. The next minute Desmond felt himself pulled into a light embrace, and he pat his father on the back, closing his eyes as he was hugged to the older man.

"This was long overdue, don't you think?"

Desmond couldn't help but crack a small grin at his father's attempt at lightening the mood.

"Just a bit."

William chuckled drily.

"Thank you."

It was so quiet, but Desmond could hear those words as clear as day, whispered by his ear as they were. He nodded, tightening his hold around his father a minute longer before pulling away, offering a faint smile once more. He was still in shock, but as his father turned around and made to head back out to the others, he felt as if the load on his back had lessened.

_Wow…_

He couldn't believe it. He just… couldn't. He leant his back against the wall, his hands clasped over his face as he closed his eyes. He needed time to think, time to gather his bearings… it was another five minutes until he'd finally pushed away from the wall again, returning to the sanctum.

Rebecca had long since turned back to her work, Shaun doing likewise as the pair whispered in hushed conversation. William had picked up his iPad and had sat down. Clay was waiting for him right where Desmond had last seen him, leaning by the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. The look in his eyes clearly stated that he wanted an explanation for whatever the hell it was that had just happened.

"What was that about?" He asked quietly. Desmond stopped some few feet from in front of him, and he slowly lifted his head to meet the blond's gaze.

"I'll tell you later."

Clay frowned, but he didn't offer any more than that. He simply nodded, understanding Desmond's unspoken plea for a moment to continue gathering his thoughts.

"In ten minutes I'm heading back in there," Desmond announced, catching Rebecca's and Shaun's attention as he indicated the animus beside him. They shared a look.

"Desmond... are you sure that's a good idea...?" Rebecca asked warily, the woman looking uncertain of herself. "You've already been in there twice today..."

"I'm sure. It won't be for long. I promise." That was the best Desmond could offer her. Rebecca heaved a heavy sigh.

"I'll get her set up again while you wait," she muttered, straightening up and rearranging the cords that were lying nearby. Desmond nodded his gratitude, Shaun meanwhile not offering words but a simple clap on the back as he strode over to his computer again and sat down. Seeing as he had nothing better to do now, and also wanting to distract his thoughts as much as possible from thinking about the bridge, the gate, the sun or even Abstergo's impending assault on them, he grabbed himself a coffee.

Only to decide that he'd need at least two to get him through this one. So he grabbed two instead.

"You might wanna ease up on the caffeine a little there," Clay chuckled quietly as he walked over to him, sliding his hands in his pockets as Desmond leant back against the wall, one cup raised to his lips. He scoffed faintly.

"Well when you don't have any alcohol, coffee's the next best thing," he replied, handing Clay the second cup he had anyway, to which the blond accepted with a small grin. They stood in silence, sipping away as Rebecca worked on the animus, Shaun meanwhile checking the cameras they'd set up outside. Though they didn't say anything, it was clear that Clay was just as disconcerted as Rebecca by Desmond's demand to get back in the animus. But he wasn't going to say anything, knowing that Desmond would keep his word. It would't be for very long. And Desmond was thankful for that. At least he'd be able to avoid having to try to convince the blond otherwise.

"I was thinking," Desmond spoke up after a minute of silence, tilting his head back against the wall. He felt Clay's expectant gaze on him and he continued. "After all this end of the world bullshit is over and done with, we need a break. Let's all go out on vacation somewhere. I dunno where, but… anywhere that's not here."

"Hell yes," Rebecca piped up from the corner. Desmond grinned, opening his eyes and looking at her to see her staring right at him.

"Oh look at you, you've only been to… to Manhattan, Brazil _and_ Italy in a span of just a few weeks!" Shaun exclaimed, looking at Desmond with a very unimpressed glare. "And _you_ need a holiday! What about me, the guy who has to slave away at the computers and cameras here and work his bollocks off trying to get those database entries fed through to you?!"

"No one reads your database entries Shaun," Clay grinned, unable to help himself. Desmond smirked, sipping from his coffee again.

"It's true."

Shaun looked appalled, the man firing off all manner of insults at the two leaning against the wall, Clay and Desmond left to share another look as they grinned widely. The more he thought about it though, the more the thought appealed to Desmond. He needed a break. Away from all this, away from all the responsibility… he just needed time with friends, family…

He watched as Clay finished his coffee and went to deposit the cup in the nearby trash can, Desmond simply gazing at the man silently, the faintest sliver of a smile curling at the corners of his lips.

_Yeah. We need a long holiday._

He drained off some more of his drink, sighing and closing his eyes. Soon enough, he was dragged out of his thoughts by Rebecca.

"Baby's ready, Desmond."

He pushed away from the wall, throwing his own cup in the bin and stifling a yawn with his hand as he approached the red leather seat, reclining back, much more refreshed and feeling calmer than he had earlier on.

_Focus, Desmond._

He felt his body slip into unconsciousness as the IV cord went in, and he hoped that when he came out, he would come out with a location for that amulet.

* * *

Clay knew that it would be a long stretch to try and find that key by the end of today. Already it was nearing 10 in the evening by the time Desmond was set to finish his latest session. He was tired when he sat down again and entered the simulation – hell, everyone was, and if Desmond woke up and somehow made mention that he'd finally discovered wherever the hell that amulet was, well… that would just be insane.

But there was still some small part of him that waited with bated breath… hoping that he was wrong. He knew he wasn't. And so it didn't surprise him when he discovered that he was indeed right.

He'd retired to his room, feeling no need to stand around to wait for Desmond to wake up considering William was crowding around him like a hawk. He still didn't know what it was that had happened earlier on between father and son, but he didn't want to bother pushing his luck by getting in the way. William wasn't yelling at him for once, and that was a miracle in and of itself. He only hoped it lasted.

So he'd left just before Desmond was due to leave his session, sighing as he tiredly rubbed at his eyes and divested himself of his jacket, shoes and jeans. He needed some sleep, and that's damn well what he was going to get. The fate of the world as it currently stood still did little to ease him though as he rolled onto his back on the sheets, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He bit his lip, closing his eyes for a second.

He tried to recall the snippets, the hazed jumble of visions that Juno had given him about the solar flare before he'd offed himself. He didn't remember much – just fire… heat… something about a few cities crumbling into dust or under lava or something, he couldn't quite piece it all together.

_Is this what's going to happen this time around?_

He wondered about that. He thought it unlikely, seeing as humans _had_ developed reasonable amounts of technology to combat most natural disasters that hit the Earth on a whim. But then again… the First Civilisation had access to data, to ideas and creations that a standard human being would never be able to conceive of in a millennia. And they still _hadn't_ conceived of, yet. So if the First Civ couldn't save the planet then what hope could humans possibly have?

Long story short… they didn't.

So yes, he decided that the more he thought about that, perhaps this actually _was_ exactly what was going to happen again this time around. He sighed.

"Fucking perfect."

"What is?"

He opened his eyes, hearing Desmond's voice at the doorway and he offered a faint grin as he saw the younger man standing there, looking at him with a decidedly amused expression on his face – though drained at the same time.

"End of the world, Desmond," Clay announced quietly, all manner of sarcasm thick in his voice as Desmond approached. "Shit's getting real, now."

Desmond didn't answer for a while, the man instead seeming to want to busy himself with unzipping his hoodie so he could throw it in the corner somewhere.

"Give me another day. I'll have the key then," he said lowly after a minute, throwing his own jeans off and divesting himself of his shoes. Clay scoffed, looking back up at him again.

"Determination isn't going to get you anywhere," he reminded him. Desmond paused, slowly lifting his eyes so he could lock them onto Clay's. His expression was blank, but Clay could still see that his words had sparked some kind of truth within that emotionless stare. 

"Wish it did," he muttered. Clay didn't say anything, but he could fully sympathise with that thought himself. So instead he busied himself with watching Desmond, waiting patiently, silently for him to speak his mind. He didn't have to wait for very long.

"The strangest thing happened today…" He began, pausing where he stood and glancing towards the door, a contemplative look in his eyes now as if he was determining whether or not to either say or do something… or if he was watching to see if there was any movement out in the corridor beyond. Whatever it was, it had him distracted, and Clay propped himself up on his elbows as his brows furrowed in increased concern.

"Well, take your pick… you have the planet, you have Abstergo, you have—"

"I meant my dad," Desmond chuckled drily, looking down at the blond and arching a brow before running a hand over his face. "When he pulled me aside earlier on… he apologised to me."

Clay felt his jaw drop.

"Come again?"

Desmond's scarred lips twitched up into a grin.

"Yeah. Straight out apology for how he's been treating me these past few months. I couldn't believe it."

Clay didn't know whether to laugh or just look plain saddened at this point. Instead he did neither of those things. He just blinked and simply laid there, staring at Desmond as the younger man sat down next to him and laid out so his head was firmly tucked against his neck, his body caging Clay's underneath him as he pressed against his side. It took him a moment to react, Clay eventually lowering a hand to wrap an arm loosely around Desmond's back, taking some degree of comfort with the heat of his body pressed against his.

"What are you doing?" He asked quietly, more so because he was amused than anything else.

"Shut up I'm tired," Desmond answered, his voice muffled by Clay's neck.

Clay chuckled, closing his eyes as he felt the man relax, all the tension seeming to slip away from his limbs as he laid there, eyes closed, head on his shoulder. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel some smug sense of pride by it. He moved his hand, lightly mapping the back of Desmond's spine, trailing his hands lowly over the plane of muscle he could feel under the thin fabric of his shirt, helping continue to ease him as best as he could. Desmond opened his eyes and he lifted his head up, shifting a little so he could raise himself just enough to rest his forehead against Clay's, simply gazing calmly at him as he lightly ran his palm down the length of the man's neck. Clay didn't respond save for blinking, holding Desmond's stare and feeling the warmth of his fingers as they moved. It felt nice, he thought to himself as he regarded the man above him, Desmond's lingering touch by his neck something he found he could easily relax to.

"It's your fault you know," he reminded him, looking back into dark brown eyes and unable to fully hide the teasing tone in his voice at Desmond's current predicament, being as dead on his feet as he was. He resumed the faint running of his hand over the man's lower back. Desmond rolled his eyes, but he didn't say anything.

Clay returned the silence, not seeing fit to bother sparking any more conversation than that. That was fine with Desmond though, seeing as he was allowed a moment to gather his thoughts, to sift through them while he waited for his eyes to steadily droop closed so he could at last get the rest that his brain was all but screaming for. He needed all the comfort, all the support he could get, seeing as realistically speaking they only had less than a week left to live provided everything went tragically wrong.

Which unfortunately in the life of an assassin, it was bound to.

Something Achilles had said to Connor registered in Desmond's mind now as he lay here, concentrating on the feel of Clay's hand against his back, the gentle rise and fall of his chest under his, taking in the softness of his hair as he ran his fingers further up his neck to slide through his blond locks: _Life is not a fairy tale, and there are no happy endings._

Hell, Clay had proven that himself the first time he'd taken the easy way out. Desmond sighed again, knowing that he was surely set to follow in his footsteps if everything kept going the way it was.

But if he could just… focus on this. Here. Right now… he didn't care.

They stayed like that for a while, neither of them talking, the two just simply glancing at each other every so often, their hands continuing to move in gentle, reassuring caresses over their necks and backs. At last feeling the fatigue start to sweep in and claim him, something vaguely reminiscent of a smile danced over Desmond's scarred lips, his mouth brushing lightly over Clay's own as he dropped his head back against the warmth of the man's neck, his eyes slipping closed once more.

He felt Clay's hand come to a rest wrapped around his back, and no matter how Desmond may not have wanted to have admitted that Clay had successfully roped him into relaxing _just_ enough to tire him out that much easier, he found he'd done just that.

He fell asleep, pressed firmly against Clay's body.

* * *

They were up early the next morning, no one seeming to bother saying anything to one another as the animus was set up, Desmond sat himself down, and Rebecca hooked the IV cord into his arm. As it was tensions were running high enough thanks to yesterday's events, and everyone was expecting Abstergo to just jump up behind them at any given second, ready to run them down and make off with the Apple.

As he sipped from his coffee and watched Desmond's session play out on the computer, Clay thought about the Piece of Eden in question, lifting his eyes to glance at the orb tucked away in the bag nestled neatly away in the corner. Rebecca had apparently noticed what it was he was looking at too, as she sighed and glanced behind her, staring at it for a couple of minutes herself.

"Should we just… I dunno… hide it?" She asked.

Clay blinked, glancing at her.

"Would it really stop them?" He replied, answering her question with another. She seemed to mull that one over, eventually sighing and shaking her head.

"I guess not."

Clay gave her a thin smile and he took another sip of coffee. It was then that Shaun lifted his head, pausing in checking the feed from the cameras set outside in the surrounding farmland.

"Didn't you have a list of other P.O.E's at some stage, Clay?" He asked, looking at the blond.

"What? When? In the files I pulled from Abstergo?" He frowned lightly. Shaun nodded. Clay shrugged, running his memory over the videos he'd hacked into the database along with his glyphs. He remembered a few mentions of other Pieces of Eden, things aside from the Apples.

"There were a few…" He answered slowly, scratching the back of his neck. "Sword, Shroud… Abstergo was only interested in the Apples, though. As far as I can recall they had the most data gathered on them… the rest, well… they just kept them aside as curiosities." He chuckled after a minute. "They'd also had the Holy Grail marked at one stage."

"You're joking," Rebecca arched a brow in disbelief. Clay smirked.

"Nope. Honest to god. They realised it was more of a hoax than anything though so they forgot about it soon after and put it on the blacklist."

"Those other two pieces you mentioned… the… Sword and Shroud, was it?" Shaun asked, continuing when Clay nodded. "They didn't happen to have any more data on them, did they?"

"All you got from me was all that I could find."

"Well that leaves some breathing room I suppose," Shaun sighed. "After all it's like you said – they don't appear to be focused on much aside from the Apple."

Clay paused in taking another sip of coffee, his eyes narrowed as he regarded the historian carefully.

"What brought this up?" He asked quietly. Shaun blinked.

"Brought what up?"

"Asking if they had any more Pieces of Eden lying in wait?"

Shaun fidgeted for a bit, the man looking uncomfortable as he reached up to pull his glasses off, cleaning the lenses against his jumper collar before putting them back on again.

"Well, nothing in particular I suppose. I mean if they _had_ those other pieces already I'm sure we'd know about it…"

"You mean they're after the Apple to complete the set?" Rebecca piped up from her computer. Shaun nodded.

"That'd be a pretty good theory if it were true," Clay announced. He paused though as soon as the words had left his lips. _Well… I suppose we shouldn't dismiss the idea_ entirely _, considering things may have changed in four months…_

It may have been possible they already had those other pieces. Very possible indeed. He didn't voice his thoughts aloud though, not wanting to think any more on that than was necessary.

He busied himself with draining off some more coffee, lifting his free hand up to idly run it through the locks of his hair. They had four days left. Four days until the entire planet became consumed by the sun. It was already getting worse outside. Flights across the globe were slowly being cancelled one by one; at the very most airports allowed no more than five departures and landings at any one time during the day. The weather was getting hotter. Record breaking highs were recorded and set to last all into next month.

A bitter smile crossed Clay's lips.

They wouldn't even _make_ it to next month. He dropped his eyes down to Desmond, still sitting there in the animus.

_The world really is resting on your shoulders. I don't envy you._

He really didn't. All he hoped was that they could both last long enough to try and put a stop to all this.

"How much longer is it going to take?"

Eyes turned to Shaun, the man sighing with no small degree of impatience as he looked down at Desmond. Clay's eyes narrowed and he shifted his weight on the pillar he was leaning against.

"Excuse me?"

Shaun lifted his head to look at him.

"With finding the key? It can't take _that_ long to chase after Lee and grab it off of him—"

"You ever been in an animus, Shaun?" Clay asked quietly. He tried to keep the hard edge out of his voice, and he'd succeeded. Barely. He was aware of Rebecca taking a careful step forwards though, Shaun looking unsettled for a brief second. At any other time Clay may have found himself laughing at that – obviously having the animus as the topic of conversation would always be a sore point with him, but tonight they didn't have to worry about that. He was being serious, but his ire wasn't directed towards the animus itself.

"It's not something you can simply go through and pick and choose at like some kind of fast food menu. You have to start from the beginning and work your way through to the end, in the same order your ancestors did. You can't just jump carelessly from one memory to the next."

Shaun shifted where he stood, scratching his chin.

"Well I know that, but—"

"Do you?" Clay couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice now as he finished off his coffee. "The fact of the matter is, no amount of willpower Desmond pushes through in there is going to help him get that key any quicker. He's doing what Connor did. If Connor gets distracted and goes off to do something else, Desmond has to do that as well."

Shaun visibly bristled, looking agitated himself now.

"Look, mate, I already told you I know all that. No need to get so defensive, for Christ's sakes…"

Clay held up his hands in a placating gesture, though he couldn't fully mask the hardness in his eyes.

"I'm not being defensive, I'm just telling it like it is. If Connor wants that key, he'll find it. And then Desmond will too."

That brought a quick end to the conversation, something that Clay was rather thankful for. It already annoyed him to no end that Desmond had to be put in that thing day after day, and it _especially_ annoyed him that people were _still_ being impatient with the man even though he was trying his best. It hit too close to home.

"I've done another check on the cameras out there…" Rebecca cleared her throat, changing the subject and waiting for everyone's attention to focus on her. "He has enough time. No one's coming."

Clay breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Do you think that agent was bluffing?" Shaun asked curiously. Clay shook his head.

"He wasn't bluffing." And even if he _was_ , he damn well wasn't when he decided to pull the trigger on himself. Clay had been down that road before, but there was something about seeing someone so willingly end their own life in front of him that kept him up at night. It was then he realised what it was finally like to be the helpless one, the one who could have done something to prevent it… but didn't. Being on the receiving end of a suicidal path, one didn't really tend to think about the consequences of their actions. They wouldn't be able to anyway, seeing as they'd be dead.

Still though… he didn't sleep as well as he'd wanted to last night, despite the comfort that Desmond had provided.

In order to distract himself, he instead focused on watching the feed from Desmond's session, taking some small comfort in the fact that Abstergo still had no apparent intentions of showing themselves at this current moment in time. Of course it meant that it was more likely they'd spring up on their doorstep the day the world was set to end… and for the sake of everyone here, Clay hoped that they'd change their minds and drop in sooner than later.

At least they'd be able to have some plan of defence ready, when they weren't scrambling around at the gate trying to open it in time because the world was slowly roasting alive.

But when had anything ever gone according to plan? He smiled bitterly, and he poured himself another cup of coffee. Then he sat back, and waited for Desmond to finish his session.

* * *

It had taken four days. Four days of constant tension, four days of throwing himself into the animus and four days of spending each night feeling more agitated than the last because he couldn't find the key's location. Four days of lying in wait for Abstergo to arrive, and four days where they simply didn't. Four days of shaking in anger at the news reports detailing the horrific and very real catastrophes that had started to grip the world – the temperatures soaring, technology failing, sea levels rising… and the sun beginning to throw off flares that made it impossible for satellites to be launched to detect how powerful in magnitude they would be once they hit the planet. He was at his wit's end, and not even Clay's calm reassurances about the subject could help him.

That was, until that evening – December 20th, merely one day before the world was set to end.

Desmond's eyes flew open and he lurched forwards, sucking in sharp gasps of air as his eyes watered.

"Woah, easy there…" He felt hands on his shoulder gently making to push him back, but he shook his head, looking blearily up at Rebecca and mumbling to her that he was ok. He stood, somewhat shakily, but nevertheless the look on his face was determined.

He paced back and forth a little, testing his legs before pointing vaguely in the direction of the animus behind him.

"I found it… the key." He doubled over and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Thank god. For how calm he was being on the outside… it didn't mask the overwhelming elation he felt right now inside of him, his legs weak and his hands trembling as he tried to keep himself steady. He wanted to cry out. He wanted to scream, to do… _something._ He'd _finally_ found it. He heard people crowd towards him, Shaun and William looking just as relieved as he felt. He blinked when his father clapped him lightly on the shoulder, and for just a moment Desmond felt taken aback when he saw what looked like some kind of smile on the man's face, too.

But he shook himself out of his shock, and he glanced around him, seeing Clay approaching from the bridge, his blue eyes slowly widening as the pair locked gazes.

"Looks like we'll have to do some good old-fashioned grave robbing." Desmond turned his head then at Shaun's words as the Brit chuckled drily from behind him, looking at the video feed. Rebecca shuddered and William simply sighed and nodded before stepping back.

"Get the van ready. We'll leave immediately."

"Bill, you _do_ realise that it's a thirteen hour run total to Rockport and back again…?" Rebecca looked uncertain. William rubbed his beard and nodded.

"Then we'll charter a jet and get us there in a half hour," he compromised. Rebecca turned to her computer, no doubt getting ready to book the requested jet. Desmond was only half-listening to everything that was going on around him – he had more pressing matters to attend to. He strode up to Clay, the blond pulling him aside as they stepped out of sight of the others for a moment.

"Are you serious?" Clay whispered, keeping his voice low so they wouldn't be heard. Desmond nodded, though no smile came to his lips. He was still in shock, unable to fully believe that at _last_ he had a location for them – the Homestead. Clay exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face for a minute as he visibly relaxed. Then a faint grin came to his lips, and he gripped Desmond's shoulder gently, looking over his head in Shaun's direction.

"I take it Shaun wasn't joking about the grave-robbing though?" He asked warily. Desmond gave a tired chuckle, his hand clasping over Clay's own as he shook his head. He didn't like the idea of it either, but considering Connor had hidden the key in Achilles' son's grave back on the Homestead after he swiped it off of Charles Lee's corpse… the likelihood that the key still remained there after 300 or so years was very likely indeed.

_Thanks Connor. I owe you one._ His thoughts dripped with sarcasm.

"Wonderful," Clay announced, though he looked considerably less relieved than he had a few moments ago.

"So now in a couple of minutes' time we're going to hop in a jet and hope the cops don't find us in the graveyard late at night," Desmond smiled bitterly. Clay didn't offer any reply, but it was clear that he thought just as much of the current situation as Desmond did. Which is to say, not very much at all.

"Bill, I can't get a jet for us… it's too dangerous. No one's willing to fly us in this current weather," Rebecca announced cautiously from the computer. Clay froze, Desmond doing likewise. They cast an uneasy glance at one another and then returned to where the others stood crowded around the technician. William heaved an agitated sigh, rubbed his hands over his eyes for a few minutes, before lowering his arms back by his sides. He grabbed the keys from the nearby table and he beckoned for everyone to follow.

"Get in the van. I don't care how long it takes – we'll make it in half that time. Shaun, Rebecca—" He lifted his head, seeing Desmond and Clay, "—you two, come along. _Now_." And with that, he'd turned towards the tunnel and had begun to run upwards towards the surface.

There was only a second of deliberation with the four remaining in the sanctum.

And then they rushed forwards, grabbing bags and cameras and soon they darted up the tunnel after William. The van doors were already open when they sprinted towards it, jumping in and barely getting a chance to sit down before William drove off, just as the sun dipped below the skyline.


	21. Chapter 21

If there was one thing that everyone was thankful for about the end of the world looming ever closer hour by hour, it was the fact that there weren't that many cars on the roads. It may have been due to the weather, the sun scorching hot and blistering, worn bitumen on roads almost bubbling from the harsh onslaught - or it could have been because of the news reports circling around the globe minute by minute warning people that outside was no longer safe.

Whatever it was, it had shaken the planet to the very core. But the sun's flares hadn't entirely taken full sway just yet, and the heat wasn't so unbearable that they couldn't stay outside for any exceptionally extended period amount of time. It would seem that they had _just_ enough time left to grab the key and return to the temple. Hopefully by then, they might be able to put a stop to it all.

The van tore down the highways on direct route towards the remains of what once was, three hundred years ago, the Homestead that Connor lived and trained at under Achilles' watchful eye. Now it was modern-day Rockport, Massachusetts. No one spoke whilst William drove, as if the man's very presence behind the wheel was one which commanded all manner of dutiful silence as the assassins contemplated with themselves how they should prepare for any possible attack by lurking Templars at the Homestead grounds. Sharing a look with each other now, it was clear that no one thought it likely. But then again… in their line of work there wasn't any such thing as being too cautious.

Desmond gazed solemnly out the window, his mind full and his heart heavy. Everything still looked the same… almost like the world wasn't going to end in a days' time at all. Of course it was night now and the sun was no longer visible, having dipped below the horizon as it had, but the moon was no less beautiful, no less calming as it lit up the sky. Beside him Clay was slouched forwards, his arms resting loosely over his knees as he gazed at the floor of the van, his blue eyes clouded over in deep thought.

From up front the radio blared to life as Shaun fiddled with it, no doubt trying to glean anything he could about their current situation. He'd tapped into the police wires, hoping that he could somehow learn something of Abstergo's influence through their radio. It would be suicide to try and tap their lines directly after all, so by circumnavigating that particular disaster he could safely catch snippets every so often of their locations whenever they decided to contact the police force. Which they did, on occasion. That occasion normally being whenever they wanted to bribe the law to look the other way just like they had when they sent armed forces in to attempt to capture Desmond in Brazil.

Everyone watched as Shaun sighed, switching off the radio again as the same news about the growing threat of the sun blurted over the speakers.

"They don't even play music anymore," he grumbled under his breath. And just like that, everyone slipped into silence once more, Shaun's comment about the radio the only thing said for the entire 6 and a half hours it took for them to at last reach their destination.

It was well past midnight when they finally arrived, and tensions were higher than Desmond had ever remembered them being. It was now the 21st of December, 2012. He felt hollow inside. Today would be the day that the world would end. It certainly didn't feel like it as they glanced around, William having parked the van at the beginning of a gravel driveway that led up a grass-flecked hill, on top of which a secluded estate looked to be built. Everything was too serene. The moon was still settled high in the sky, the stars visible now every so often as the cloud cover broke away and separated to let the moon's rays shine through. It was too quiet. No one was awake except for them, here on this settlement.

Sharing a glance at one another, they proceeded to walk up the driveway, Desmond guiding them as he took the lead, slipping into his second sight and using his Eagle Vision to determine if they were being watched. So far so good. That was a relief, no matter how small it was.

The wind gusted through the trees, their boughs aged and weary. No lights could be seen from the house on top of the hill, further indicating that they were alone. He refused to relax, despite the evident lack of danger. He was still far too tense, far too distrusting of this one moment of quiet afforded to them.

They passed a sign on their way up the hill, no doubt erected by the council at some point in time. He stopped as he read the words.

_Davenport Homestead. World Heritage Site c. 18_ _th_ _Century._

He felt his throat grow dry. His hands clenching by his sides, he forced himself to gaze at the mansion now boldly visible, here on the hilltop.

Desmond now felt his throat tighten. He roamed his gaze from the slated rooftops, down towards the brick walls, timber balconies, the post by the doorway within which Connor had sunk a hammer into the wood as he committed himself to fight a war against the Templars which would never truly be won…

He took a faltering step forwards, his chest feeling painfully constricted.

It was Achilles' Homestead.

Here, in the flesh, right before him.

"Déjà vu…" Clay muttered quietly beside him as he stepped up. Desmond nodded slowly.

"Yeah… big time…" He could barely talk. He'd only ever felt this way once before… and that was when he'd come face to face with the Auditore Villa back in Monteriggioni, only three months ago. He took another step forwards, and then another, staggering as if he was a man drunk or entranced. He could almost see him now… Connor, racing towards the front door, pounding furiously away at it in his vain attempts to get Achilles to open it for him, to let him inside, to take him under his wing and train him.

Connor, a man full grown wielding tomahawk and hidden blade, adjusting the saddle on his horse as he mounted in preparation for a long and arduous journey to Boston.

And then… through Connor's eyes he could see Achilles… old, frail, leaning against the side of the stables, staring mournfully out towards the sea, wondering when god would be gracious enough to take his life, now that it was all but over – age having defied and defeated him once and for all.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and he was snapped out of it, Desmond meeting Clay's gaze as the man looked at him.

"C'mon," he murmured lowly, but there was understanding in his eyes. He knew what Desmond was going through right now. Of course he knew. Hell, he was the only one who _could_ possibly know. Desmond inhaled a sharp breath, nodding slowly before managing a faint smile, Clay giving his shoulder another gentle yet firm squeeze, letting him know that he was here, he had his back.

Desmond walked on, his pace quickening. He didn't have time for sight-seeing. He needed to find Connor Davenport's grave, and he needed to find it now. He could hear the low comments behind him uttered from both Rebecca and Shaun as he and Clay resumed leading, their footsteps muffled by the dense cover of grass and soft earth. He didn't know what they were saying, but he reckoned it had something to do with the estate itself – after all, they had been watching his video feeds day after day as he'd been going through his memories. It would only make sense that they were hit with a similar wave of nostalgia themselves.

They turned a left, behind what remained of the stables – now nothing but a flat overgrown forest of shrubs. It would appear that rot and age had withered the original timbers away, time throwing the old structure into disrepair. He could hear the faint lap of waves against the shore from here, and Desmond knew that if he looked to his right… he would see the bay in which the Aquila once lay docked and ready for departure outside the shack that Robert Faulkner had set up for himself. Slowly turning his head now he did just that. He wasn't met with the sight of the shack nor the ship… but what he _did_ see before him was the bay in all its entirety, yachts now dotting the inland waters where Connor's proud and mighty ship once sailed.

The waves rolled up to the shoreline, frothy and violent as the breeze tore through the bay. He shivered, wrapping his hoodie tighter around himself, pushing himself forwards once again. _Stop getting distracted._ He had a job to do.

It took them another ten minutes until they finally found something on top of a cliff face that the house was built in front of. The estate was huge, in fact much larger than it had seemed in the animus, indicating that at some point in time renovations had been made to add more rooms to suit the needs of whoever it had been that had taken the land and lived here in later centuries. But there it was… fenced off, marked with a signpost not unlike the one currently out the front of the estate.

He didn't need to know what it said on the sign. It was blatantly obvious what it was, anyway. Three gravestones, plain and carved out of granite sat perched on the hilltop, overlooking the rolling green hills below, the whispers of the sea by the shoreline adding to the calming view laid out before them. Desmond could only imagine what it would be like during the day time. He strode forwards, his eyes lowering to the names etched onto the headstones; Abigail, Achilles, and Connor Davenport.

He crouched down before Connor's grave, but not before offering Achilles and his family a minute of silence. Sighing, he then looked at the mound of earth before him, running his fingers through the thick shoots of grass. He felt sick. If he'd known that he would have to dig up graves to get the damn key that Juno wanted him to find, he would have called it quits a long time ago.

But, unfortunately, the end of the world wouldn't let him. So he had to do this, no matter how sickening, how disrespectful it was.

"Desmond."

He looked up, reaching out to catch the shovel that his father had passed down to him as he strode forwards. He'd evidently pilfered it from the side of the manor, seeing as there was a tool shed not too far away. Desmond then turned back around, swallowing thickly and trying to distract his thoughts as much as he possibly could as he stood up, aligned the shovel, and began to dig.

He was glad that both Clay and his father stepped in to help, otherwise he didn't think he'd be able to do this for much longer… and he'd only just started.

It was a long and difficult process, perhaps made even more so due to the nerves that wracked Desmond's mind and body; his fingers trembled as he grasped the shovel, and he'd begun to bite his lip so hard he probably would have given himself another scar if he wasn't careful. Beside him, his father and Clay worked in silence, their own shovels in hand. But if there was one thing that Desmond could take some form of comfort from with this morbid task, it was that he wasn't the only one who was visibly affected. Despite the three men working together… it took them all well over twenty minutes to finally dig up enough earth to reach the coffin nestled safely below.

A dull, metallic _chink_ echoed throughout the grave as they paused in their digging, Desmond having angled his shovel down low enough to begin to carefully scrape around the top of the wooden tomb. He paused a moment, testing again. Another _chink._

He looked up at the others, even Shaun and Rebecca peering down as they stood up above. Desmond quickly tossed his shovel back over the top of the grave, crouching down again now as he dug through the soft earth with his fingers. His eyes widened when he hit something, something smooth… circular…

"I found it." He had no cares for how hoarse he sounded, lifting his hand after wrapping his fingers firmly around the spherical object. He clambered back out of the grave, accepting Clay's help with his free hand as the blond pulled him up. He dusted himself off, looking down at his palm now as he opened his fist… and there, sure enough, solid and cold in his hand, was the one key that he had been trying to find for the last two months.

Oddly enough, he didn't feel relief. In fact he didn't feel anything – he just looked at it as he turned it over, inspecting the familiar First Civilisation etchings on its dark jade coloured surface, wondering if it was all going to be worth it in the end. It didn't seem very impressive. Clay leant over his shoulder, the warmth of his body comforting as he reached down to lightly trace the markings with his fingers, Shaun, Rebecca and William now stepping forwards to get a good look themselves.

"We finally have it and not a damn moment too soon. Let's go," William ordered gruffly, already turning his back. No one else moved for a minute, instead intent on continuing to gaze at the key. Eventually though, after sharing a look with Desmond, Rebecca and Shaun began to follow William back towards the van.

Desmond sighed, blinking and placing the amulet around his neck, seeing as he would be able to keep a better eye on it if he had it on his person than if he simply put it in his pocket. It didn't have any weight to it, despite its size. In fact he might as well have not been wearing it at all. But he didn't have any time to worry about that now. He looked up, meeting Clay's gaze and the man offered a faint smile and a small clap on the shoulder before striding forwards, Desmond following.

As they jogged down towards the van parked by the gravel driveway, Desmond felt another surge of guilt rush through him, seeming to chill right through to his spine as he looked back at the Homestead. They hadn't even covered up Connor's grave. _Let's hope the owners aren't around right now,_ he mused to himself drily.

That'd be in the news no doubt, assuming everyone survived the day.

Pushing these thoughts aside, he made it an effort to keep his eyes focused ahead of him as much as he could. He couldn't afford to have his focus swayed now just because he was on an ancestral plot of land, or that they'd gone grave-robbing and didn't bother to clean up after themselves.

_Hopefully there'll be a chance to come back here later._

He doubted it… but if he looked at it like that, he could almost desensitise himself to what indecencies they'd just committed. The van's doors were thrown open by Shaun, Desmond jumping up into the backseat along with Clay. Slamming the doors shut again they heaved slow sighs, William slamming his foot on the accelerator as the van sped off.

"We're making good time – we'll be back at the temple just before seven providing everything still goes along smoothly," William called from up the front. "Desmond, do you know what to do with that key? We're not going to play around – as soon as we get back we're putting an end to all this."

Desmond nodded, not really hearing his father's words. He was staring blankly ahead of him, his fingers tracing the amulet, feeling the smooth grooves of its surface against his fingertips.

"I don't know what to do with it, no," he admitted. "Juno never showed me."

He could feel William's eyes on him.

"Well I trust that it won't take long to find out."

Desmond nodded again.

"That slot on the gate looks like a promising start," Clay murmured quietly from next to him, the man reaching out to have a look at the amulet again. Desmond watched, the pair simply running their fingers over the curious looking markings on its surface.

"She's been too quiet lately," Desmond whispered so as to avoid drawing the attention of the others. He met Clay's gaze then. "You don't think she'd… actually trap me, do you? Make me go to all this trouble just to find this key and then not bother helping me when I finally walk up to that gate?"

Clay didn't say anything for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim lighting the van provided in the back. But his fingertips brushed lightly against Desmond's, offering him a support which he wouldn't be able to say in words what with everyone else around right now. "I don't know," he sighed. "Honestly? I wouldn't put it past her. But that would seem a little _too_ far-fetched… even for her. She wants you to have that key, and she wants you to use it. Simple as that. I guess we'll just find out how when we get there."

Desmond looked back down at the amulet, his eyes clouding over in thought. Outside he could hear the roll of the tyres on the road, the van speeding through town on direct route towards the highway.

"Just out of curiosity… when Juno was being a regular in your head there, Desmond, did she say anything about the Apple at all?" Shaun asked. Desmond slowly looked at him, frowning.

"No… aside from her telling me about her people wanting to send it up in a satellite… why do you ask?"

Shaun turned around to face him.

"Well I mean it just seems a bit superfluous if she and Minerva went through all the trouble over the centuries to pass on a message to you to go find the bloody thing and not use it."

"I've been thinking about that," Desmond mused drily. He had, actually. Every night for the past four nights after his sessions, he'd been talking with Clay – the two of them throwing ideas back and forth at each other for what purpose the Apple could remotely be needed for aside from the one time they'd used it to gain access to the temple itself. But despite how many theories they thought over, how many plausible scenarios and situations they envisioned… it always came back to one thing. "It may have only been needed to let us open up the cave."

Rebecca looked around at him then, even William noticeably turning his head just enough to eye his son out the corner of his eye.

"That seems a bit of a waste," Rebecca announced. Desmond smiled thinly – she'd voiced his thoughts perfectly.

"Waste or not, we can't let Abstergo grab hold of it. Whatever its main purpose was for, it wasn't just for opening some damn lock on a cave doorway," William interjected before anyone could continue. "That thing still deals incredible amounts of power, and used in the wrong hands… well… our fate might just be worse than the sun simply cooking us all alive."

No one said anything for a moment, and indeed Clay and Desmond shared another look, the pair of them thinking back on the events that had occurred in Abstergo… Desmond using the Apple… making everyone turn on each other… made them kill Vidic before killing themselves…

William was right. No one should be able to have access to that kind of power. Even if it was intended for good. Desmond looked down at the ground then, sighing as he reached down to pick up his bag that he usually carried with him, but he changed his mind at the last minute and let it drop. The Apple was still in there, and he felt it now by his feet as the bag rolled on the van floor when they drove over a bump in the road.

Everything in his life had been leading up to this one moment, it would seem. Getting first the Apple and then the key and heading back to the temple… he could have laughed right then, if he'd wanted to. To think that three months ago he'd been pouring shots for bankers and businessmen. He bowed his head in his hands, closing his eyes and feeling the fatigue wash over him.

_Where did everything go so wrong?_

"You ok?"

He roused himself when he heard Clay's quiet inquiry, and he lifted his head to gaze at the opposite wall of the van. _Was_ he ok? Well, that was the question, wasn't it?

"When was the first time you killed someone?" It was an odd thing to ask, for sure. Certainly something no one wanted to hear taken out of context. But Desmond had given up by this point. Clay didn't seem put off though, which was a relief. Rather he looked like he understood the inference behind Desmond's words perfectly, and he only chose to answer him purely so he could humour him – to try and somehow make him feel better about what was no doubt going to be the most impossible choice of his life in a few hours' time.

"When Bill sent me off to infiltrate Abstergo the first time round. Had to break in and hack into Rikkin's computer so I could grab some data about the animus project… walked right up to a security guard out front when I first arrived, grabbed him around the neck, hauled him off to a quiet corner and slit his throat," Clay answered, shrugging with some degree of nonchalance before gazing at the younger man beside him with a pointedly bemused expression on his face. "It's not _meant_ to get easier the more lives you take Desmond, you know that. But if you're asking how many more people have to die over this key and the Apple when Abstergo eventually crops up on our doorstep when we get back… I have no clue."

Desmond smiled grimly. That was _exactly_ what he'd been asking.

He sighed, giving a nod and falling silent once more. The van continued to trundle on. As they tore down the highway, the time approaching almost 2:30 in the morning, his thoughts returned once more to the Homestead, or what was left of it. There wasn't any particular reason for it… but it was more so just so he could distract himself, trying to avoid thinking too much about the current matter at hand… and the rather grim turn the conversation at present had taken.

It had dragged up too many memories. Memories that he'd prefer to have left buried deep inside.

"First time for me was back in Italy…"

Clay looked at him, and Desmond gave a heavy sigh. _Might as well keep this going._ He'd started it, after all.

"We'd only been at the safe house for a couple of days at the most… woke up from my last session to absolute chaos. Rebecca and Shaun were packing up boxes and rushing back and forth, Lucy was telling me to pull myself together and hurry up, saying something about Abstergo finding us… she threw me my hidden blade, too. First time I'd worn one. Dunno where she got it – probably from my dad. Wouldn't be surprised if he passed it onto her to give to me when she knew I was ready. He'd do something like that…" He trailed off, casting his eyes over his father up front for a minute before continuing, his eyes glazed over as he recalled the events of that fateful day.

"We raced down to the warehouse and they were right there. Abstergo. Vidic and a whole gang of armed men. Christ, it almost scared the shit out of me, y'know? Not even a minute after getting out of the animus and suddenly I'd have to… to _fight_ all these people…" He paused again, eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking. The more he thought back on this, the more he could recall exactly what had happened then… the agents rushing towards him, the split-second decisions he'd had to make to defend himself… Vidic calling out to him from the van as he drove off, saying he'd be back for the Apple…

"I was swinging around like crazy – I still hadn't quite perfected Ezio's skills, but… whatever I did… it worked. First time I brought my hand down my blade connected with flesh and it sunk right into this guy's throat. He fell, right before me. Dead. But… I didn't… _feel_ anything for the poor bastard. He might've been just an ordinary guy like me, who had a job outside of Abstergo… had a family, might've been married… he could've been a _good_ guy… and I just… ended his life. Just like that. No second thought, nothing."

He bowed his head, rubbing his hands through his hair and gripping short strands of brown locks.

"The assassins used to have all these laws… 'stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent'… it all seems to have gone straight out the window now. There's no line that determines who's an innocent or not… it's just kill or be killed. It's so fucked up."

He lifted his head again then, at last meeting Clay's eyes and seeing the sombre look in the man's face.

"But you know what's even more fucked up? It's that every day, more and more of these innocent people are throwing their lives away just to get a fucking piece of glowing metal which _they_ believe is going to help solve all their problems. It could be hundreds of them storming that temple when we get back, and they're all going to die. And…" He sighed, taking a slow breath to calm himself.

"I'm no killer, Clay…" A dry chuckle parted his lips, followed by a swift groan. "But it's sure turning out to be that way…"

Clay didn't respond – what _could_ he say in regards to that? Absolutely nothing. So he just sat there, hands by his sides, letting Desmond speak his mind for what good it would do him. He suspected not very much, but at least he was letting some kind of weight off his chest for now. But he was right. Of course he was. Clay would be lying if he said he hadn't thought of it like that way before, either. The whole world was going to hell, and that was a fact. But even more so – it was this pointless struggle between the assassins and the Templars, who was right and who was wrong…

Sometimes he found he missed the days when their ideals were drawn out in black and white, instead of all this grey area that surrounded them in these modern times. At least it had been easier to understand, then.

He felt something brush by his hand and he blinked, looking down to see Desmond's fingers slipping down to lightly trace over his own. He gave a small smile, looking back up at the man as he sighed and tilted his head back against the headrest.

"When this is all over and done with… assuming we're lucky enough to survive that long," Desmond began, still remaining quiet so as not to draw the attention of the others, "that vacation is sounding more and more like a damn good idea."

Clay chuckled at that, tilting his head back just as Desmond had done and eliciting a soft sigh.

"You have anywhere specific in mind or are you just going to head back to New York again?" He found himself asking. Desmond shrugged.

"Who knows. Maybe. But maybe like a… an actual _trip_ somewhere, y'know? I don't mean heading over to somewhere like Brazil for half a day just so we can find some fucking glowing piece of rock. I mean like a proper month-long vacation. Just… going everywhere. I don't care where, but… anywhere that's not here."

Clay mulled that over for a bit, his smile growing ever so slightly.

"If Shaun tries to drag us over to England you can count me out. I'd rather head over there when he's _not_ getting us to pay some crazy homage to Her Majesty the Queen" he chuckled again. Desmond snorted a laugh, turning his head now to glance at the blond beside him. As he did so, his hand slipped lower, and Clay tightened his hold on Desmond's hand as their fingers laced together. It was a short while until Desmond spoke up again, but when he did, his tone was noticeably lighter than it had been a few moments ago.

"Hey, you'd _better_ come along. You can't make me deal with his bullshit all by myself."

Clay grinned.

"No promises. I mean there's only so much I can take."

Desmond snorted another laugh, but he didn't offer any form of retort. Instead he closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the headrest. Rebecca and Shaun had long since resorted to muttering to themselves about the key that they'd finally obtained, and William was giving the road his full attention. Looking at all of them now, Clay felt that the knowledge that today would be the day the world was set to end seemed rather surreal. _The calm before the storm I guess…_

He sighed, casting another glance at Desmond before idly running his thumb over the back of his hand. No matter how enticing the idea sounded, unfortunately not even the prospect of a holiday was enough to ease his mind about what lay ahead at the temple. Both he and Desmond knew that the likelihood of making it out of this one alive was a one in a million chance. They both knew that as soon as they opened that gate… Juno would do _something_. After all, she was inextricably linked to that pedestal locked behind that gate – what else would it be locked away for if it was meant to be kept hidden, untouched? And the very thought of coming so far just to throw their lives away… he'd looked death in the eye once before, but now… now he wasn't so sure he could handle it a second time.

So for his sake, for Desmond's sake, for the _world's_ sake… he hoped that they would be able to put a stop to all this before Abstergo got to them. Because if they didn't…

"Fine. I'll come along."

Desmond cracked a smile.

"Knew you'd come around."

Clay returned the grin, lifting his gaze now to the nearby window, focusing all his attention on gazing at the outside world as they drove by. If they didn't make it to the temple before Abstergo…

Well, neither of them wanted to think about that just now.

* * *

Never before had tensions been so high the minute the cave entrance came into view.

William had been careful to park the van in its usual spot underneath the canopy of trees, covering it with branches once again to ensure it was as camouflaged as it possibly could be under the circumstances. They'd arrived just at the stroke of dawn, and it was nearing 6:30 in the morning, with the sun's rays flaring over the horizon to mark its climb through the sky.

It was horrifying. No one could ever seem to recall sunlight looking so harsh before… it seemed to light up the sky, shrouding it in fire for how overwhelmingly bright it was. It was hot, too. Far too hot.

Desmond had barely even taken a moment to gather his thoughts as he'd jumped out, already skirting the perimeter of the clearing with Eagle Vision, hoping to catch some sight that Abstergo may have already gotten here before them when he'd felt like he'd been smacked by the full frontal force that was the overwhelming heat of the day. But he couldn't worry about the sun, now. That was the least of his problems.

So as it was he felt weak with relief when his search turned up nothing. No one was here except for them.

"We're in the clear," he announced, jogging back over to the others and making to wipe the sweat from his brow. He could feel himself drenched in perspiration – his clothes sticking uncomfortably to him. And by the looks of things, he wasn't the only one.

"Get in there Desmond. Don't wait for us," William huffed out, running his hands over his face and wiping them on his jacket straight after, the man looking like he'd just been winded after a marathon race. Desmond nodded, turning back around and darting off in a quick jog as he rushed towards the cave entrance. Clay followed suit, matching his pace with Desmond's as the pair dashed down the tunnel, almost heaving loud groans of relief at how cool it was down here in comparison with the scorching heat outside. The relief was short-lived however, as Desmond reached to his neck, tore off the amulet, and held it tightly in his palm just as the pair landed down below, wiping dust and dirt off their clothes.

Another quick look around the place in Eagle Vision helped determine that the temple grounds were more or less in the exact same state as they'd been left in before they'd driven to Massachusetts – yet even so, Desmond couldn't stop himself from trembling the closer he approached the looming gate at the far end of the bridge.

_Moment of truth. Now or never._

He didn't know what to expect as he dashed along the ancient pathway, the barrier dead ahead, growing closer with each step. For all the months they'd spent down here, not once did he feel as much fear, as much uncertainty about nearing it as he did now. His hand was shaking, and he clenched his fist by his side as he slowed down, now coming to a halt right in front of the sigil-marked gateway. He had to take a moment to draw his breath, to try to centre himself as Clay jogged down to a halt beside him a few seconds later. He felt his hand on his shoulder, and that worked to settle him to some extent… but even then it wasn't enough. He could tell by the man's posture, by the way his brows knotted together as he narrowed his eyes at the pedestal beyond that Clay was feeling just as uncertain about this as he was.

He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes and counting to three in his head. When he opened his eyes again, Desmond's gaze was resolute, determined. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat and he stepped forwards, raising the key and hovering his hand closer towards the spherical lock etched deep into the gateway, a lock which even now seemed to pulse faintly as if in direct response to the key's close vicinity.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered under his breath. Clay's hand tightened reassuringly around his shoulder. They shared a look.

And then Desmond slipped the key into the slot provided, the lock fitting the key snugly as if they were a perfect match. He stepped back, dropping his hand by his side. He felt his heart race through his chest, perspiration once more seeming to pool at his brow as the nerves culminated into one big overwhelming mess inside his already unsettled brain.

One second passed, and then another.

For a minute the key appeared to glow. Five seconds had passed… ten…

Nothing happened.

"… What?" Desmond whispered, confusion now settling firmly in the forefront of his mind to replace the steady build-up of fear that had since taken refuge in his brain. He stepped back. Clay remained silent beside him, but his hand had dropped from Desmond's shoulder, the blond's eyes steadily widening.

It was another few minutes until the realisation sunk in, and Desmond turned to Clay, his voice rising as his confusion gave way to frustration, leaving him ultimately hysterical.

"Why isn't it working?!"

"I don't know…" Clay answered slowly, edging further towards the gate, his brows furrowed. He ran his palm over the lock, pressing lightly here and there as if to check whether or not the key had been inserted properly. It was. It was just sitting there, neatly in place. But the gate remained shut. Behind him he could hear the faint noises of footsteps and he knew that the others had finally made their way inside.

He was about to turn his head, to tell them that something had gone wrong when he heard William call out to ask what was taking so long, but Desmond beat him to it. The man had begun to pace back and forth in front of the gate, hands gripping his hair as he darted to and fro.

"It's the twenty first… why isn't it working?" He muttered desperately, as if hoping that by voicing his thoughts aloud he might gain some sense of clarity. "The world's supposed to end today… we have the key, we put it in the lock… Juno _said_ that this is what we had to do so _why isn't it fucking working?!_ "

Clay looked at him, knowing fully well that any second now Desmond was going to snap. He was right. The man lashed out before he could even get a chance to stop him.

"FUCK!" He'd pulled his hand back and threw it at the gate, punching it with all his strength. The pain rocketed through his arm but he didn't care, Desmond lowering his hand and taking another step back, gazing despairingly up at the looming barrier before him. A torrent of emotions seemed to cloud his eyes; anger, disbelief… and most predominantly, hopelessness.

Clay sighed, rubbing his brow and looking over his shoulder again at the others who had now caught up to them, similar expressions of confusion etched across their faces.

"What's taking so long?" William asked.

"It won't open," Clay answered, Desmond meanwhile shaking his head to indicate that he'd rather not be the one to explain. William's eyes narrowed.

"What? What do you mean it won't open?!"

"I put the key in and it's _NOT FUCKING OPENING, DAD!"_ Desmond snapped, sighing again straight after and closing his eyes as he drew in a sharp breath, held it, then exhaled slowly. He opened his eyes again then, meeting Clay's gaze and giving the man a bitter smile. "What's the bet Juno's behind this?"

Clay gave an equally bitter smile in turn.

"You read my mind, Miles."

"What's she done now?"

They turned to look at Shaun, who'd cautiously taken a step closer.

"What _hasn't_ she done?" Desmond answered, not feeling in the mood to answer any more than that. Clay grabbed his arm.

"Excuse us for a sec," he announced to the others, guiding Desmond along as they took off back in the opposite direction, en route to the computers still set up and waiting by the animus. They shared a dark look with one another, knowing just by that one glance alone that they were indeed on the same page here as they stopped in front of Shaun's laptop, Desmond booting it up as he made to access his email.

Juno had been silent in Desmond's head for a few weeks now… but that didn't mean to say that she had stopped communicating with him for good.

His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, Desmond's brows knotting together in concentration as he scrolled through the list of messages he'd received. Behind him Clay leant over his shoulder, placing one hand on the desk and the other on the back of the chair Desmond was sitting on. Their eyes trained over the screen, as if hoping that they might catch sight of something that had gone amiss… a message that had previously lay hidden up until now…

"It just doesn't make any sense," Desmond muttered under his breath, not even bothering to mask the anxiety in his voice. He scrolled through the next page of emails, the first one revealing nothing of use. "How much longer do we even have until the sun blows up? An hour? Two hours? Ten fucking _minutes_?!"

"I don't know," Clay sighed again, wishing that he could have something else other to say than that. But he didn't. Neither of them knew _when_ the world was set to end… only that it _would_. Sometime today. If he was being honest with himself, it surprised Clay how well that he and Desmond were taking this, all things considered. But then again… with everything else that had happened up until this moment… they may very well have grown accustomed to adjusting to seemingly impossible situations against all odds. Perhaps it was some faint hope that clung to their minds, reminding them that there was always still a chance that the planet wouldn't be engulfed in that solar flare. It was a one in a billion chance, but it was still a _chance._ There was also a one in a billion chance that when that door finally _did_ open, they'd be able to stop the flare themselves by approaching that pedestal for whatever purpose it served.

One in a billion chance. But still a chance. And in their line of work… they'd learnt to take those chances whenever the opportunity arose. And if not, changing and adapting – wasn't that what Altaïr had been going on about at some stage? Regardless, they needed to keep their calm. They both needed a clear head and a clear conscience to match. Losing control over everything now would only spell even more disaster than the inevitable fate of the world.

Let William and the others yell at them to hurry up, to put a stop to all this. Let Abstergo barge through the front door right now, guns blazing. They'd still take their time to try and find out _exactly_ what it was that was going on here.

And to do that, they needed to focus. Now more than ever.

Behind them they could hear the voices of the others growing louder as they approached.

"Can't they just _shut up for five seconds?!"_ Desmond growled under his breath. Clay gave a faint chuckle of agreement, but his attention was soon diverted a moment later by something that had just popped up in the lower left hand corner of the screen. And by the way Desmond tensed in his seat… he'd noticed it too.

He clicked the message and the pair's eyes roamed over the email to read its contents. It was from Juno.

_The end is now come, so close, but still not close enough. The world will be saved, Desmond Miles. But suffering is eternal. The sun draws strength and sends fire into the skies. It has been written, and it shall be so. Wait a while longer, and the way shall open. But then you must hurry, you must act quickly if you are to fulfil the task we had set before you all these millennia ago._

_The way will open, but only when you are ready. When the world is ready._

Desmond sat back, his eyes unblinking, his body still. Clay on the other hand had slowly straightened himself up, his expression dark as he reread her words a second time and then a third.

_This is worse than we thought…_

"That bitch," he whispered. Desmond could only nod. He felt like his brain had been sapped of all possible feeling in that moment, even the despair that had clutched his heart in its cold, clammy hold the second he'd seen the mail notification no longer holding any sway over him.

He finally looked up at Clay then, and brown eyes met blue with a solemn stare.

"When the world's ready?" He echoed, smiling bitterly. Clay stepped back, lifting a hand to rub it over his eyes.

"Sounds like just as the planet's about to be cooked alive by the sun if you ask me," he muttered under his breath. Desmond's smile remained bitter on his lips. Those were his thoughts exactly. By now the others had finally caught up to them.

"Will someone _please_ tell us what is going on here?!" Shaun huffed out, the Brit looking like he'd run a marathon. "Why are you on my computer?" His words fell short then when he looked at the computer in question, and he saw the email still on the screen. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. "Hang about…"

Desmond stood from his chair, letting Shaun lean over the desk to get a better look at the message Juno had sent him. Rebecca did likewise, and even William had taken a moment to peer over their heads. Meanwhile Desmond stood a safe distance away, standing next to Clay with his back to the wall. They remained silent, watching and waiting for the other three to finish reading. When they did, it was with a heavy silence, thick and uncomfortable, that they all swapped glances with one another.

"So we're stuck here…" Shaun whispered. William cussed under his breath, the man rubbing the back of his neck and beginning to pace back and forth in agitation as he pulled away from the desk. Rebecca bit her lip, and though she tried to put on a brave face, tried to look unaffected, it was clear that she was only just barely managing to maintain a hold of herself.

It wasn't long until the silence was broken, though. And everyone turned to fix wary eyes on William.

"I _won't_ stand for this!" He yelled, his temper flaring as he turned on his heel and already proceeded to barge down towards the bridge again, on direct route towards the gateway. "Rebecca, Shaun – keep an eye out for Abstergo. If you see any sign of them, take action immediately! Desmond, Clay—" and here he turned his head, fixing the two with an urgent look in his eyes as he jerked his head back in the direction of the computer, "see what you can do there. Talk to her. Find out _something_ that may be of use to us, anything at all! We need to get this gate open and we need to open it _now_!"

"Dad…" Desmond sighed, his words faltering a moment as he gripped his head and exhaled slowly. "It's not as simple as that. She won't open the gate. Not until she thinks it's time, whatever that means."

William stopped in his tracks, and for a moment it looked as if he was at a loss for words for perhaps the first time that Desmond had known him.

"… I'm going to see about getting this open," he repeated, slowly this time, as if trying to measure his words so as to avoid his temper from skyrocketing once again, "and you two are going to see about worming some answers from her. Please. We need to work together here." And it was with a pained smile that he nodded back at the computer again and strode back off towards the barrier once more.

Desmond was left standing there, his mouth almost dropping open. He'd expected many things to come out of his father's mouth just then, but none of them had been _that_. Beside him Clay exhaled slowly.

"Camera's up and running," they heard Rebecca say to Shaun from nearby. And that spurred them into action, both men blinking and pushing themselves away from the wall.

"I don't know what the hell he thinks we can do but he's going to be pretty disappointed," Clay muttered as they approached the computers once more. They didn't sit down, though. Desmond pulled him to the side, his voice lowered as he looked first at Rebecca and Shaun, and then back to Clay again.

"She wants to make me desperate…" He said, and it didn't even bother him how flat his voice sounded, how calm his words were. He also didn't know what made him say those words specifically… but the more he mulled them over, the more he realised he was right. What other reason would Juno possibly have to seal the gateway she'd been so desperately trying to get him to open for the past three months? She clearly wanted him to wait. To wait until _whatever_ it was she'd been wanting from him showed itself. She had a plan. And it was finally all coming into motion.

The look on Clay's face told him that he wasn't the only one who'd been thinking along those lines.

"Kind of a low blow, don't you think?" And he forced a smile on his lips. Desmond sighed. Then he lowered his gaze, shaking his head as he stared at Shaun.

"Do you know how long we have until we get cooked alive?" He asked. Shaun tilted his head, his expression sombre.

"Just did a check before you asked that," he began. He waited a moment, as if somehow trying to figure out whether or not he should continue. When he caught the looks on everyone's faces he conceded, though reluctantly. "Midnight."

"It's always fucking midnight," Clay hissed, running a hand through his hair. Desmond shook his head, not offering any comment on the matter at hand. He couldn't, anyway. All that he'd needed to say he'd already said.

"What's the time now?" Rebecca asked somewhat timidly from the corner. Shaun replied automatically without missing a beat.

"Nearly eleven."

 _Nearly eleven._ That gave them just over thirteen hours. Desmond was almost ready to throw his hands up in despair. Thirteen hours labouring away in here, without anything to do but fear for humanity, fear for the entire _world_ , try to find some way past a barrier which wouldn't open until Juno herself explicitly bade it, check to make sure that Abstergo wouldn't come barging in at any given second…

It was impossible, he realised. He knew it would always be impossible, but now that he was actually _here_ … he could see just how hopeless it truly was. Just how hopeless they _all_ were. He would have laughed then, if he could have. At most it was all he could do to step forwards away from the group, needing some time to himself.

He tilted his head back and when he gazed at the temple ceiling, he could feel the pending onset of angry tears of frustration already working and probing uncomfortably at the corners of his eyes.

_We're going to die in here._

And he knew right there, right then… that he couldn't do this.

And as he looked behind him, it wasn't Clay's concerned eyes that he saw, it wasn't Shaun or Rebecca watching him in confusion, silently asking him with their gazes if he was ok… it was to see Juno herself, an apparition, a corporeal figure calmly standing at the far end of the temple, simply staring at him.

He saw the malice within her white, unseeing eyes. Her cold, dead lips pulled into a slow smile.

Then she faded away, as if she'd never been standing there - simply bursting into shimmering particles of translucent light. Like a ghost.

Desmond knew then and there that she had him _exactly_ where she wanted him. He was trapped.

And this time, there was no way out.


	22. Chapter 22

"You actually _saw_ her?"

He'd told Clay of course, and the blond had immediately pulled him to a private corridor, away from the prying eyes and ears of Shaun and Rebecca. Desmond nodded, feeling for the minute as if all strength, all fight had been sapped from him. Perhaps it was Juno's doing, or perhaps not. Either way he was tired. The only thing that remotely served to ground him to the conversation, to keep him focused on the matter at hand was Clay gently grasping his shoulder, the older man gazing at him with a mixture of both concern and fear in his eyes.

"Standing just behind you and the others," Desmond managed to reply, meeting Clay's gaze and forcing a smile. "She didn't say anything… just sorta… looked at me. And smiled." He barely managed to repress a shudder. If there was anything that could be classed as some kind of 'nightmare fuel', it was that.

"Jesus…" Clay whispered, visibly unnerved. "Well I guess that means we know we're _definitely_ flailing around in the dark now trying to open that bloody thing."

"Who's going to tell my dad?" Desmond asked. He knew the answer already: no one. Once William Miles had his mind set on something, it was damn near impossible to change it. He'd keep trying to open that gate even if he knew it was hopeless. Which it was.

"It'd be nice if he could tell himself I guess," Clay answered, smiling bitterly.

Desmond pushed away from the wall then, fully inclined to agree. He was silent for a while, running his hands over his eyes and taking stock, trying to keep himself focused. _You have to push her from your mind_ , he told himself. _The whole world is at stake here…_

That didn't exactly help him calm down.

"I'm not going to tell the others…" He announced slowly after a moment, looking back at Clay. The blond nodded.

"I wasn't expecting you to," he replied.

"Damn it Clay you know me too well," Desmond grinned faintly, perhaps the only genuine smile he'd been able to manage over the course of this brief conversation. Clay chuckled at that, though it was noticeably strained as he fell into step beside the younger man when Desmond had made to walk out of the confines of the corridor to head back out to the sanctum.

"I'd kinda hope so," Desmond heard the man mutter, and his lips twitched faintly into another grin. The moment was short-lived, however, as no sooner as they had stepped back onto the sanctum ground had the realisation of where they currently sat in time slapped them straight in the face. They'd only been gone for less than five minutes… and already it was utter chaos in here.

Rebecca looked to be on the verge of pulling her hair out as she feverishly kept track of the video feeds. Shaun was agitated, agitated and visibly even more uptight than usual if anyone dared speak to him. William was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean he wasn't still trying to find some way or another to break past that barrier.

One shared look told both of them that they were indeed thinking the exact same thing – Desmond was right to not want to tell everyone else about Juno.

"Oh stand there and wait for as long as you want, you two," Shaun muttered irritably to them as he turned his head to see them standing there. "Don't bother to help us with surveillance or anything. Don't even bother to go _outside_ to lie in wait for them when they eventually _do_ ambush us—"

"That's enough Shaun," Rebecca muttered, effectively silencing the Brit immediately. She lifted her eyes then, beckoning Desmond and Clay over to her. They walked forwards, ignoring Shaun's antics though deep down they found some painful truth in the man's words – what _were_ they doing to help right now? Absolutely nothing. And it made them angry. Angry and anxious.

"Just ignore him, he knows as well as the rest of us that there's nothing we can do except sit here while the clock ticks," the technician continued as she lowered her voice, doing her best to fix a reassuring smile up at the two standing next to her. It didn't meet her eyes though. She sighed. "But if you _do_ feel up to it… we really could use a few extra hands on the surveillance. I've been running constant feeds on all the cameras we have set up out there but… it's not enough."

"I'll go outside," Desmond announced, nodding and already preparing to turn around. Rebecca started, the woman looking shocked by this. Clay sighed and fell into step beside him.

"Not by yourself you're not."

"Two heads are better than one, right?" Desmond looked at him, to which Clay nodded – the beginnings of a somewhat forced grin slipping onto his mouth.

"Oh absolutely."

Despite himself and despite the gravity of the current situation, Desmond couldn't help but give a faint chuckle at that. By this point they'd already begun their climb up the tunnel, jogging quickly so as to get out there as soon as possible, despite the blistering heat that hit their faces some halfway up.

"Fuck it's hot," Desmond hissed under his breath when they'd managed to clamber out towards the clearing, brushing dust and dirt off their clothes. _Hot_ was an understatement – in fact, he could already feel the sweat clinging uncomfortably to his brow, his skin feeling like it was prickling and burning him alive. Clay groaned, nodding his wholehearted agreement as he wiped a hand across his face and glanced around him, shading his eyes with his hand from the harsh glare of the sunlight.

"Still prefer this over having to put up with Shaun though," he muttered. Desmond found he couldn't disagree with that, and so the two strode forwards, keeping to as much shade as they possibly could. Thankfully what meagre shade _was_ provided by the cluster of trees before them seemed to help a fraction, and it was there that they stood for a moment, taking stock and roaming their eyes over the clearing's boundaries – Desmond with his Eagle Vision, and Clay meanwhile striding a few feet away to check the cameras in the van.

They spent ten minutes doing this, and by the time Clay came back to re-join Desmond (who had completed a circuit of the perimeter by now), it was with good news – so far no one was here.

"We all done d'you think?" Desmond asked idly as he rubbed the back of his neck, blinking away the mottled grey of his Eagle Vision and welcoming colour back to his eyes once more. Clay looked around him, frowning in concentration. They didn't want to venture too far out of the perimeter Rebecca had set up, because then that would leave them out of range, and besides… they didn't particularly feel like trekking around the entire farmland in this sweltering heat.

"Not quite," he spoke up after a minute, pointing to the raised hillock immediately above the cave entrance. A small smile came to Desmond's lips – that seemed fairly secluded… it was certainly out of sight of the cameras, a nice, quiet place to just take everything in… besides, it would offer 360 degree views of the land around them. He began walking, Clay following silently.

Together they climbed up the raised mound of earth, brushing hands on jeans when they reached the top. Then their steps noticeably slowed when they neared the edge of the small cliff face, and standing there side by side they took a minute to take in the view.

It looked like hell.

It wasn't even midday yet and already it was as if the sun was getting ready to set. The entire sky was a thick, blood red. Clouds thankfully blocked most of the sun's rays so they could gaze up at it without staring directly into the star itself, but it did little to hide the fact that the sun looked much, _much_ bigger than they had last remembered it being. All below the green fields along the horizon were no longer green but appeared to be doused in flame – as fierce as the sun's light was as it passed over the ground.

 _This is what the end of the world looks like_ , Desmond thought to himself, his throat growing dry. He heard footsteps beside him and Clay had taken another step forward, the man's expression unreadable as his blue eyes darted over the plains below, hands raised to card lightly through his hair as he folded his arms behind his head.

"We really are scheduled for deletion, aren't we?" Desmond muttered. Clay laughed bitterly.

"Don't joke about that."

Desmond answered by giving a thin smile, only remembering those fateful last minutes in Animus Island far too well, when the simulation had been breaking apart, fragmenting around them… and Clay had been standing there, those very same words falling from his lips as he cried out: " _This is the end, Desmond… scheduled for deletion!"_

It was funny how that one particular moment bared so much striking resemblance to where they found themselves now, here on a hill, overlooking the end of the world as they knew it, the sky the colour of blood and the Earth feeling like it was falling apart around them...

"Any other time and this might just look beautiful," Desmond spoke up again, changing the topic as his voice softened. He roamed his gaze sadly over the horizon, vaguely aware that Clay was looking at him again. It was some time until the blond answered him.

"From up here you wouldn't know the planet was falling to pieces," he murmured in agreement, a strange tone entering his voice, something melancholy and sombre… Desmond sighed, sitting himself down on the grass, crossing his legs and simply taking a moment. He ignored the heat as best he could as he resumed gazing out at the fields below.

"You know… sitting up here… kinda reminds me of my first leap of faith…"

Clay looked amused as he sat himself down next to Desmond, stretching his legs out in front of him and sighing quietly as he rested his elbows on his knees.

"Altaïr or Ezio?"

Desmond chuckled.

"Altaïr. He was standing on this tower at the top of Masyaf… the whole place was under siege by the Templars after they'd stolen the Apple from Solomon's Temple…" Desmond frowned thoughtfully as he recalled that memory, brought it to the front of his mind… he could remember it so well, having relived it when he was in Abstergo. In fact if he concentrated hard enough he could envision himself as the stoic assassin now, standing there atop that tower, gazing down at Robert de Sablé and his men, waiting for Al Mualim's words to leap forth, soar through the air… to show that he did not fear death...

"It was late afternoon… the sun was dipping below the mountains… it was hot… and right there, down below was a hill. He leapt right onto that hill… I thought I was gonna die. The only thing that saved me, saved _him_ I guess was the bale of hay and blankets placed there under the tower so the assassins could land without hurting themselves… shit… just the… the _memory_ of standing there on the edge like that… about to take that leap… it gives me vertigo just thinking about it now."

Clay sat there, listening patiently, all the while a small smile on his lips. He looked back out over the horizon as Desmond continued.

"It got easier after that though, thankfully. I mean I went straight through Ezio after him, so it kinda had to. Then back at Monteriggioni, when… Lucy and I were trying to find the tunnels that led back into the villa… there was a—a kind of pile of leaves just scattered around at the bottom of the small cliff there. I took one look at it… and I didn't think about it I just… I just _jumped_. And it felt so natural…"

He'd trailed off again, Desmond's eyes glazing over. He could recall it vividly… the tensing of his muscles, the leap, the way he angled his body, arced it into a graceful curve, used the momentum of the dive to land safely on his back where he then rolled over and out of the leaves as soon as he hit the ground… the thorough _exhilaration_ it gave him…

Without realising it he'd taken a moment to exhale slowly, as if just thinking about it was enough to make him hold his breath.

"At least you had your ancestors to help you with that," Clay spoke up. Desmond blinked, his attention drawn by the man beside him and he looked at him curiously. Clay had leant his arms behind his back now, resting on them as he tilted his head to look up at the sky. "My first leap of faith was quite different…"

"How do you mean?"

Clay grinned, chuckling under his breath as he arched a brow and met Desmond's gaze.

"For some reason your father still thought it was a good idea to keep leaps of faith a compulsory activity when taking on new recruits."

Desmond felt his jaw drop.

"You're kidding me…"

The growing look of amusement on Clay's face told him that he most certainly was not. Desmond exhaled another sharp breath.

"Jesus, dad…" He shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. He'd never been privy to that when he was growing up – perhaps because he was the mentor's son and it was assumed he'd be an assassin since birth. To find out that William still lived in the dark ages like that, making new hopefuls jump off buildings… well, he didn't know whether to laugh or just groan in exasperation. He did both.

"Oh it was great," Clay's tone was cheerful as he waved it off. "He took me up to this apartment block somewhere in New York and told me to jump off the bloody thing. No explanation beforehand, just straight out 'jump and hope you carry the Creed on your wings'. I thought he was on drugs but I went up to the roof anyway just to humour him – I had nothing else going for my life at that stage so I said to myself why not. Anyway… I got to the ledge, did a bit of a run-up just to get enough speed going and I tripped and toppled over the side. Managed to grab onto the scaffolding that was hanging along the wall there and I spent ten minutes trying to get myself down and hope that he wasn't watching so I could land my ass back on the ground and make it look like I'd expertly flipped into the safety net that was set up there by the workers the day before."

Desmond couldn't help himself – he laughed.

"Are you fucking serious?!" He gasped out, by now doubling over as his laughter continued to roll freely from his lips. Clay grinned, shrugging his shoulders and looking back out at the fields below, seeming rather pleased with himself for lightening the mood considerably.

"I was sore for days after that."

Desmond was choking by now, and he had to weakly hold up a hand to signify that he wanted Clay to give him a couple of minutes to calm down. When he _did_ manage to regain some form of control over himself, he took a deep breath, held it, and then rubbed his eyes.

"Kind of makes you wonder though… how for people who supposedly don't fear death… they always actively look for any means to help avoid it at all costs. The hay, the leaves, the nets… kinda ironic, don't you think? I guess it was just their way of cheating it. That was probably why they didn't fear it so much," he chuckled again.

Clay's smile slowly faded, and with that Desmond knew that the conversation had indeed taken another turn… and one not entirely for the better, either. But it needed to be said. What he wanted to know, right here, right now… he needed some answers. And now was the only time he was going to get them.

"Everyone's afraid of death, Desmond…" Clay murmured quietly, fixing a saddened smile on the man next to him. "Sure some are better at hiding it than others… but it doesn't change it for what it is. It's the one true constant in this world… that sense of the unknown… why do you think religion was created? Because no one could bear the thought of parting this sorry excuse of a world and leaving for a great black abyss of nothingness. Everyone wants to live forever – and if praying to something they _think_ exists helps give them some hope of eternal life and glory, then so be it." A bitter laugh had left him then, and he returned his gaze back to the horizon once more, an empty look crossing his eyes. Desmond smiled thinly, following the blond's example and looking out at the sky again himself.

There was a long moment's pause, in which neither of them said a word.

But then Desmond spoke once more, his voice barely a whisper as he bit his lip.

"What's it like? Dying?"

The sombre look on Clay's face told him that the blond had been expecting this question.

"It's the end of the world, Desmond," he reminded him. "Happy thoughts now – stop worrying about whether or not the sun's going to cook us all alive." He was joking, of course. He, like Desmond, knew the sun _was_ going to cook everyone alive. He shook his head, Clay sighing heavily as he closed his eyes.

"… I don't know," he answered simply.

That caught Desmond entirely by surprise. He was just about to question him to ask what he meant by that when Clay beat him to it.

"Well, my physical body's long gone, but when I uploaded myself into those databanks it was _me_ I uploaded. I never personally experienced what happened with my body when it turned into a husk straight after that – braindead and then _actually_ dead a split second later. It was like… feeling the life sap out of me when I struggled to pull myself towards the animus... fuck around with the computer… get myself lying down… I was fading fast and when I managed to get the job done it was like I'd simply… fallen asleep. And when I woke up it was to see you standing there – not on the Island, that came later – I mean back when you were in the Auditore Villa. You solved all my glyphs, and then you… saw me in the animus. I still remember that conversation, actually… 'Find me in the darkness'… I think that was what I said. God I was weak… I could barely keep a grasp on things… my vision was fading me…"

He'd stopped for a minute, his brows creased together in concentration.

"Then I dunno I think I just… fell asleep again. Woke up on the Island. Drawn to it like a fly really – I mean I was technically a program at this point and the animus thought I was part of the coding used to keep its command centre afloat so it pulled me there. Then I waited for you to hurry your ass up and come find me," he grinned. Desmond felt his lips twitch into a slight smile.

"So, no. I don't know what it's like to die. I know what it's like to _want_ to die and to be _near_ death… but as for the actual dying part, well… that's something we're just going to have to find out for ourselves when our time comes."

Desmond nodded, looking back out over the horizon, the cloud cover thickening in the blood red sky.

"I'm scared," he admitted.

Clay's eyes closed again, and a low chuckle sounded in his throat.

"So was I."

Their eyes met, and a brief lapse of silence fell over them. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence though, as they turned to watch the breeze rustling through the trees, the heat by now becoming somewhat bearable. It was a silence in which they knew they had reached a unanimous understanding with one another – perhaps an even greater level of understanding then they previously thought they'd shared. Desmond mulled over Clay's words, at last having gotten an answer for that which he'd been wanting for quite some time now.

_We're all scared in the end._

Did he want to die? No. He didn't. But he would. And would he ever be able to resign himself to that fact? No. He wouldn't.

And to hear that Clay, a man who'd been at that brink, at that bridge from which he could have so easily have crossed right over into that final nothingness that awaited everyone when their lives met their end… to find out that he'd been scared too, that he'd done everything he could have to stop himself from taking that final step… well, it reassured Desmond.

It reassured him because maybe, just _maybe_ … there was a way to stop this. To make it through the end of the day to see at least one more sunrise.

Was it selfish? Undoubtedly. Was he more concerned about their own lives than the lives of everyone else on the planet? In a way, maybe he was. But sitting here, on this hill right now, gazing at the Earth's final moments with the one person by his side who understood him in a way that no one else possibly could… he thought he had a damn good reason to feel this way.

"Gotta say I wasn't expecting our last few hours on Earth to go by quite like this," Desmond chuckled lightly after a minute. Clay laughed, arching a brow at him as he turned his head.

"You started it," he reminded the younger man. Desmond chuckled again, shrugging his shoulders and lying down now on the grass, sighing as he shielded his eyes from the glare of the sky.

"I've decided I'm going back to New York if we manage to sort this shit out," he announced. Clay looked amused at that, glancing down at Desmond.

"No big holiday?"

Desmond shook his head, a soft smile forming on his lips. Clay smirked.

"Oh I get it…" He began, nodding as if he'd put two and two together. "Back to Bad Weather for Desmond Miles, bartender extraordinaire – where he's gonna have a hard time apologising to his five girlfriends for leaving them alone for three months."

Desmond snorted a laugh at that.

"It wasn't that many."

"Ah yes, my bad. Ten girlfriends. You were notorious," Clay's smirk widened, and he was unable to stop himself from laughing when Desmond gave him the finger in response. A finger which turned into a hand reaching out to lightly tug at Clay's shirt collar. Clay continued to smirk down at him, but nevertheless he humoured Desmond and allowed himself to be pulled down, his hand coming to rest at the side of Desmond's neck as he sighed quietly and made himself comfortable leaning over the younger man.

"How do you get ten out of zero?" Desmond grinned, dropping both hands now to rest them at Clay's hips. Clay arched a brow again, looking Desmond steadily in the face.

"Well if you're shit at mathematics…" He began, smile back on his lips. "Which incidentally I was back in school."

Desmond felt momentarily impressed by that.

"Seriously?"

"Oh yeah," Clay nodded, grinning again. "Mainly because I couldn't be fucked doing the schoolwork. Learnt my lesson courtesy of my good ol' dad though. Kinda had to crack down on that then." He'd leant down slowly as he'd been talking, and now their brows were almost touching. Their smiles soon faded though after a moment, and as the heat of the sun bore down around them, their hands resting at their hips and necks, they both knew then what was coming next. Just one more thing that they needed to get out of the way before the sun made to explode.

It was Desmond who beat him to it.

"… We really let this go too late," he whispered, meeting ice blue eyes. Clay's expression had changed – where it was cheerful just a moment ago, it was now sombre, defeated. He nodded.

"Yeah..."

And then they'd crushed mouths together, panting softly from the force with which their lips met – almost hard enough to make teeth clack together as Clay's hands gripped either side of Desmond's neck, Desmond's hold tightening around Clay's hips.

It wasn't sensual, it wasn't slow and it wasn't loving in any sense of the words whatsoever.

It was bittersweet, full of regret and desperation – an urgent flurry of heated kisses as they groaned lowly into each other's mouths and wordlessly apologised for everything, for how long it had taken them to get to this point a week ago.

"You think we… _this_ … still could've happened if… things went differently?" By 'differently', Desmond meant if the impending solar flare was never set to hit the Earth, but seeing as he was having a hard time trying to articulate his words around Clay's mouth, their tongues darting out to mix in now every so often, that was the best he could manage. He groaned lowly again, sucking on the tip of Clay's tongue for a moment, something to which the blond answered with a groan of his own and he threaded his hands through Desmond's hair, gripping short brown locks tightly.

"Honestly?" He panted softly, pulling away for the briefest of moments so he could answer. He nodded feverishly, managing a grin as he looked Desmond squarely in the face. " _Fuck_ yes."

Desmond grinned right back, feeling a deep pulse of satisfaction surge through his chest at that. So he wasn't the only one then. Good. He rose himself up from the ground a little, placing one hand on the grass to steady himself as he cupped his free hand against Clay's cheek now after moving it from his hip, and he eagerly met the next flurry of kisses that the blond pressed to his mouth, lips swollen as they continued to crush hotly together. He felt Clay's hands move back down to his neck again and he smiled, meeting his tongue as it darted over the corner of his mouth for a moment and using the momentum he'd gained from shuffling upwards a little he raised his other hand from the ground to rest it at Clay's shoulder – then he threaded both his hands through the blond's hair, gripping the back of his head and pulling him closer.

They felt dizzy. They needed air but they didn't make to pull away again. They needed to _feel_ , not think – and Clay laughed breathlessly as Desmond pushed him back against the grass so Clay was the one under him this time. Desmond smiled, shifting so he could straddle him, his thighs tucking snugly around either side of Clay's hips.

Only then did they pause for breath, and as they panted heavily against each other's mouths they finally managed to take stock of the situation. Desmond sat up, looking down at Clay and at his hips he was currently straddling. Clay was gazing calmly back up at him, his hands coming to rest now at the top of Desmond's thighs. Desmond bit his lip, contemplating how he should handle this. Then their hands started to move – reaching down to dance at the belts and zips on their jeans.

Should they be doing this here? Probably not. But then again, what other opportunity would they get before the world blew up? Probably none.

But then Desmond stopped, his hand hovering over his zip just as he was about to pull it down. Clay froze too, a small look of confusion entering his face as he waited. He looked like he was about to ask if Desmond was ok when Desmond shook his head, chuckling lightly and leaning back down, hand dropping away from his jeans entirely as he instead settled on sliding his right hand through Clay's left. Clay smirked, arching a brow again but saying nothing, simply tightening his hand around Desmond's and following the younger man's example as he too let his hand drop from his jeans so he could instead go back to threading it through Desmond's hair when he lowered himself back down to lightly brush his mouth against Clay's.

No, they wouldn't do this. Not now, anyway.

Later. After this whole crisis was over. Because it _would_ be over, and they _would_ make it through this.

"Just for the record," Desmond whispered, pressing his lips back to Clay's as they spent a moment coming to their senses from the dizzying exchanges they'd shared up until a few moments previously. "When we save the planet and our sorry asses tonight and get back to this, I'm gonna be on top."

Clay laughed at that, simply shrugging and relishing in the feel of Desmond's body above his, meeting those kisses and feeling Desmond's hand come down to map against his neck. All the while he tightened his hold on his hand once again.

"Deal."

They grinned, eyes slipping closed as they sealed that deal with another hot, heated kiss.

* * *

It was no surprise that as soon as they re-entered the temple ten minutes later Shaun was the first to ask them how long they'd taken to do some "simple surveillance" – but they ignored him as they passed him by.

"Still nothing," Desmond said as he walked over to Rebecca, giving her a faint smile to which she nodded and looked relieved.

"Thanks you guys," she replied, standing from her chair and looking at them both. "Get some rest – you look like hell."

They blinked, both men sharing a brief look and chuckling faintly as they saw what Rebecca was referring to – with how hot it was out there, they'd come back into the temple looking like they'd practically just run a marathon.

"Don't mind if I do," Clay answered lightly, grinning and nodding to Rebecca as he passed her by. Desmond was about to do the same when a hand reaching out to lightly clasp at his shoulder stopped him, and he looked back at the raven haired woman as she pulled him to the side.

"Your dad was asking about you when you went out there…" she began lowly. Desmond sighed, turning his head to glance at the bridge, seeing William at the far end in front of the barrier, arms crossed over his chest.

"Thanks…" he muttered, giving her a nod of his own as she managed a faint smile in return, already making to sit back down at her desk. Clay had paused, listening in from nearby, and when Desmond walked up to him he looked at him cautiously.

"You going up there to talk to him?" He asked. Desmond sighed, nodding and rubbing a hand over his brow.

"I have to. He'd probably find some other way to hound me if I don't go find out what he wants now," he answered bitterly. Clay gave a sigh of his own and he clapped the man on the back as they resumed walking again.

"If you need backup, you know where I'll be."

Desmond scoffed at that, but nevertheless he waved the man off, nodding to show he'd definitely take him up on that offer if push came to shove. So as Clay headed off in the direction of the shower Desmond took a deep breath and held it, sighing as he walked towards the lone figure of his father.

If William noticed Desmond striding up to him and pausing beside him, he didn't say anything at first. Nor did he give any indication that he'd seen him. Instead the two stood there, side by side as they gazed at the transparent barrier before them, both lost in their own thoughts about what it was that was on the other side… and why Juno thought it was so important to keep it shut until the sun began to make its move.

"You know I don't say this anywhere near as much as I should, but… I _am_ proud of you, son," William eventually murmured after a long minute of silence, and Desmond slowly fixed his eyes on him as he turned his head. William met his eyes then, and for once… Desmond found he could look past the coldness, the aloofness in that man's gaze. He could see something in his father's eyes then that he hadn't been able to see before.

And that was pride. Pride and love.

He was shocked, to say the least.

He didn't say anything for a long time, but William apparently didn't require an answer. He simply smiled – saddened as it was – and he turned to look back at the gate. The minutes continued to tick by, and eventually the silence became too much. Desmond slid his hands into his pockets, lowering his gaze to the ground as he exhaled slowly. He took a step forwards.

"Hey, dad…" He began, and he swallowed the thick lump in his throat as best he could as William turned his head to look down at him again, "you… you don't have to—"

"I do," William sighed. "I mean it, Desmond. I know I haven't exactly been an ideal parent, but…" He paused, evidently having decided a different approach would need to be taken. He cleared his throat and he nodded to the gate looming in front of them. "You've done all you can. We'll just have to see what happens next." He smiled then, and again Desmond was struck by how foreign it felt – seeing William look down at him like that. He reached out to clap his son on the shoulder.

"You and Clay finished out there I take it?"

That roused Desmond out of his thoughts and he stirred (perhaps a bit _too_ quickly, but thankfully his father didn't seem to notice, or if he did, he didn't choose to comment), giving a stiff nod.

"Yeah… still nothing," he answered slowly. "You think maybe that agent they sent out really _was_ bluffing?"

William shook his head.

"No. They were telling the truth. No reason for them to lie after all seeing as either side are so close to achieving their goals… we're going to save the world and Abstergo know our location, and most importantly the location of the Apple and an abundance of First Civilisation technology. Though to be fair… what the hell they'd see in something like _this_ ," and he gestured around them at the temple, "I haven't got the faintest idea."

Desmond fell silent again, the best he could offer in response to that being a mere nod. William watched him again for a moment and then managed another faint smile, lifting his head again.

"I'm proud of you both, actually," he continued. "You and Clay. The two of you working together have ended up saving our sorry asses on more than one occasion. I'm wondering why the hell _I'm_ the mentor," he chuckled. "He was always bright and eager to please. Got the jobs done and got them done quickly and efficiently. You know truthfully I… saw a bit of you in him," William faltered for a moment, the man trailing off as he stared in front of him.

"Maybe that was why I jumped on the chance to train him up after you left. You both have this… determination about you. Granted, he was determined to put his skills to use instead of being determined to live the rest of his life as a bartender in a shitty apartment, but it was still a determination nonetheless. And you both had this, well… shall we say a particular knack for getting into trouble?"

Desmond offered a weak laugh, chuckling faintly as he smiled.

"Yeah… I guess we do," he said quietly. Then, after a moment's pause, he continued. "I'm sure he'd be happy. To hear all this I mean." In fact he knew Clay would be. His smile softened.

William reached out, clasping a hand gently on his son's shoulder as he nodded to him, then proceeded to stride forwards to inspect the key, the amulet still locked in place in the barrier wall. Desmond watched for a moment, biting his bottom lip in contemplation as he fished around for something else to say.

Because there _was_ something he wanted to say to his father… and up until now, he didn't know when he was going to say it. So considering in just a few hours' time there might not be a chance in amongst all the chaos, he knew that right now was his best bet. So he cleared his throat, faltered for half a second, and then shook his head as he pushed the doubt, the hesitation out of his mind as he came right out with it.

"Hey, dad, uh…"

"Hm?"

"You know it's… it's funny… I have this memory of you… one I keep coming back to…"

William lifted his head then, fixing his son with a questioning, if not amused stare as he waited patiently. Desmond scratched the back of his neck, his brows furrowing as he thought over how he should best explain this.

"Um… I was fourteen, I think… and you were trying to teach me how to walk with a light step… remember that? How to be mindful of how much noise I made when I moved around… simple stuff. Stuff I understand now, but back then… I gotta tell you, I thought you were just being an asshole." He chuckled at that, scratching his neck again before sighing.

"So… uh, you told me you were gonna go up to your room and sit with your back to the door, and read a book… and you wanted me to wait at least fifteen minutes, and then sneak up there and tap you on the shoulder without you knowing. And you warned me, that if you caught me we'd have to start all over… then you went upstairs…"

William nodded, smiling thinly as he straightened himself back up.

"You kept me waiting longer than fifteen minutes if I recall," he announced. Desmond laughed at that, though it came out as more strained than anything.

"Yeah. Yeah I… I did. Four hours before I even decided to go up. And even then, it took me twenty minutes to get to the foot of the stairs. And another thirty to get up them. And then ten to get down the hall, and there I was at the door… and I peeked into your room… and I was – I was _so_ hoping that you'd be asleep. But no. No you… you were still reading. And I just about shit myself." He laughed again, William chuckling as he sat down on the nearby chair by the computer. And Desmond found that it was easier to say this now, to let all this out as he looked at his father.

"Ten minutes later I was just five feet away from you… and that's when I remember setting my foot down… and you flinched. Ever so slightly… you flinched. I thought maybe I'd imagined it. But I know you'd heard me. You didn't say anything... you just checked your watch, you reached for your drink, you took a sip, and then you kept reading." He took a deep breath then, sucking it in and holding it before exhaling slowly. "I knew I'd failed. But you didn't say anything… I didn't understand why. Then I lunged and tapped you on the shoulder. And you turned around, and 'Oh! Fantastic!' you said, and you scooped me up and gave me a big hug. And I didn't say anything."

An unreadable expression crossed William's face at that, and Desmond sighed heavily as he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"Dad, I was so pissed off… I wanted to scream at you. I'd failed and you _knew_ it. But you said nothing. And I stayed mad – for _weeks_. I thought you were patronising me. I thought maybe you decided right there that I was never going to be the man you wanted me to be… but I realised just a few years ago that… you checking your watch… that was the clue, wasn't it? You let me win because… I'd been so patient… and I guess that impressed you. You know, maybe at that moment, you thought it might be better to be my dad instead of my mentor. I… I don't really know… maybe for you, they're… they're one and the same…"

"Son…" William whispered, but Desmond cut him off. He shook his head, managing a weak smile as he sighed and took a step closer to the barrier in front of him, resting a palm flat against the transparent surface as if hoping that holding onto something solid might settle his racing thoughts, help him ground himself again.

"But… it's ok. I mean it. It's ok," he looked around again then, fixing his father with a meaningful look. "It's taken me a long time to think about it and… I think that all this, all of _this_ going on here, right now—" and he gestured around them, "helped me realise just how important that was to me, that memory. You know either way, I'm happy to know that both my mentor and my dad were looking out for me that day. I didn't understand that then… but I do now. And it's not just me, I mean… you were looking out for Clay too, weren't you? After I was gone. You knew what a shit life he had and you just took him right under your wing. We talk about it a lot you know, him joining the Brotherhood… how it made him feel _appreciated_ again and… sure we also talk about how difficult you made things for us sometimes but even when… when you found out about him and Mark, when you tried to get him to go back in the animus again… it was because you were scared of what might happen to him now because Abstergo knew about it, wasn't it? Even when you're at your worst you're _still_ looking out for us and… and dad?"

He watched as William slowly rose from his chair, still silent but Desmond could see that his words had hit home, he could _see_ that everything he was saying rang true. He managed to smile – _really_ smile this time as he looked right up at him.

"I said something to him, when we were out there a short while ago. I told him I was planning on coming back to New York after all this was done."

William remained silent for a long time, and when he finally did manage to say something, his words were hoarse as his bearded lips twitched upwards into something reminiscent of a grin. But the look in his eyes already told Desmond that he knew _exactly_ what it was his son meant. And he was proud of him.

"So you can go back to that bar again?"

Desmond shook his head, chuckling faintly as he took a step towards him, humouring him though he knew he didn't need to explain himself further. But somehow saying it aloud just seemed to bolster his confidence. It felt… right.

"No. I'm coming home, dad. We're both gonna come home. Back to the assassins."

William stared at him for a long time – so long in fact, that Desmond started to feel his confidence waver, ever so slightly. Had he said the wrong thing? Was his father going to change his mind now? Try to talk him against coming back home? He didn't think it likely, but at the same time…

Then the man smiled – a proper, wide smile that almost split his face in two. And just like that Desmond felt himself relaxing, knowing he _had_ made the right choice.

"I'd like nothing more."

Desmond grinned lightly, clapping his father on the back as he found himself pulled into a brief hug.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" William asked as soon as he'd pulled away, clasping Desmond by both shoulders and searching his face as if trying to catch some sight that his son was lying to him. Desmond sighed, glancing around them and biting his bottom lip for a moment in contemplation.

"You can never really run away from what you were born to do, I guess…" He murmured. "I mean, Abstergo found me and suddenly I was dragged back into this when all I wanted was to have a normal life. But… that never works out in the end. For an assassin, I mean. Y'know we're always… gonna be pulled into this war no matter how far we try to run from it. But I've… learnt something. Since this whole thing started. Sure I may have had friends back when I was working in Bad Weather – friends and… and a _life_ that I wanted to lead, but… in the end home – and I mean a _real_ home, and family… it's the assassins. Always has been. You and Clay and Shaun, Rebecca… even Lucy in her own way… you all showed me that." He clapped his father on the shoulder then, meeting his gaze and managing a lopsided grin.

"Besides – nothing like the end of the world to get this off my chest, yeah?"

William chuckled, drawing Desmond into another hug – though this one was tighter as William wrapped his arms around Desmond's back and drew him in close. Desmond didn't mind though. On the contrary… he felt… strangely fulfilled. As if everything he'd just said was a weight that he'd been carrying on his shoulders for a long time. In fact he had. He'd been carrying that weight around since he was 14. And now, well… now he could relax. Now he could begin to at last _finally_ understand the man that was his father.

It had taken him twenty five years… but at last he'd managed it.

"Get some rest, Desmond," William muttered as he pulled away again a brief moment later, giving a faint smile in his son's direction. "You'll need it."

Desmond found he couldn't really argue with that. So he took his leave, stuffing his hands into his pockets. No sooner had he made to walk away though had he paused again, turning back around to glance at his father once more.

"Dad?" He called out, waiting to catch the man's attention as he looked back up at him again. He gave another faint smile. "Thanks."

William waved it off, but the satisfaction and gratitude in his eyes couldn't be mistaken. Feeling another surge of relief flood through him, Desmond sighed and continued on his way, feeling as if his steps were somehow lighter as he walked… as if he wasn't weighed down by doubts or regret… hell, not even the upcoming solar flare could fully dampen his spirits right now, especially as he nodded to Rebecca who gazed up at him with no small amount of concern in her eyes, clearly expecting some kind of drama to have unfolded between the two at the gate.

When she saw the look on Desmond's face however, that concern gave way to absolute confusion.

"What'd he want?" She asked as Desmond sat himself down on the animus. He was glad to not have to go back in there again, at least for now, anyway. He didn't answer for a while, instead clasping his hands loosely in front of him as he leant forwards, elbows resting on his knees. Then he turned his head and he smiled at her.

"To clear some things up."

Rebecca arched an eyebrow, but nevertheless her lips twitched into a light grin of their own as she came forwards and clasped him on the shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. When she turned back to her work, burying herself behind her computer as she resumed her vigilant surveillance watch, Desmond took a moment to simply sit there and gather his thoughts.

He inhaled slowly, held his breath, then exhaled and repeated a few more times. His clasped hands tightened together and he bit his bottom lip, wondering where to go from here. A quick glance at his watch showed it was now almost 1:30 in the afternoon.

He simply stared, allowing that fact to sink in.

Ten and a half hours to go.

Oddly enough, whether it be from the talk with his dad or the time spent with Clay outside – he didn't feel as apprehensive as he had earlier on about the world drawing to a likely close. On the contrary, now he felt focused, attentive. Just because he wasn't able to do anything until that gate opened didn't mean he had absolutely _nothing_ to do right now. He'd exhausted all his animus sessions, Connor's memories having drawn to a close with the assassination of Charles Lee and Achilles' funeral at the Homestead – which meant that with all those sessions now officially over and done with (he still hadn't had time to allow that to fully register yet), he could focus his attention on helping the others with the surveillance until it was time to make his way across the bridge.

So that's exactly what he did.

He straightened himself up, rising from his seat and stretching his arms above his head. He looked at Rebecca again.

"Get yourself some rest," he murmured quietly. "I'll take over from here."

She looked genuinely surprised as she blinked and lifted her head.

"You sure?" She asked, a little uncertainly. Desmond nodded.

"Gotta do something with my time. You need a break."

Rebecca arched a brow but otherwise made no other comment, simply gazing at him for a moment longer. Then she sighed and stood from her chair to let Desmond sit down.

"I'm gonna go get some shut-eye," she announced cheerfully as she turned around. "Man it feels good to relax."

Desmond laughed at that, waving her off and settling himself back.

"Get outta here, Rebecca."

She merely chuckled in response, and Desmond continued to smile as he busied himself at the computer, running his eyes over the video feed. Nothing moved outside save for the occasional rustle of the wind through the trees, and for all intents and purposes, it didn't appear that Abstergo would be showing up any time soon.

_If only that were the case._

He sighed.

"Getting sick and tired of it already, are you?" Shaun piped up icily from the corner. Desmond sighed again. He'd forgotten Shaun was still there.

"Anything on the radio?" He asked, changing the subject. He didn't bother giving the man his attention, but he heard the sound of fingers rapidly tapping away on a keyboard, followed by the sound of weight being shifted on a chair.

"There _was_ something I found a few moments ago, yes…" He began. That drew Desmond's attention and he turned in his chair to face the Brit who was sitting at the computer behind him. Shaun lifted his gaze and he tapped at something on the keyboard again, and sure enough – a recorded live video feed began to blare softly from the monitor.

" _Jesus, sun's getting worse…"_

" _No kidding. We're like sitting ducks out here."_

" _What are we even out here for? No one's on the roads. Looks quiet."_

" _Supposedly backup or something if the other team goes south."_

" _They still after those fugitives?"_

" _Apparently. Hiding out in Turin or some place like that."_

The feed ended, and Desmond spent a long moment mulling over those words. He glanced back at Shaun.

"Police?" He asked quietly. Shaun nodded.

"And that 'other team' they mentioned I'm willing to bet belongs to Abstergo," the Brit concluded with a grim smile.

"Is there any more?"

Shaun shook his head, sighing agitatedly now as he pulled his glasses off to clean them.

"No, the feed cut off after that. It's getting harder to keep it going for longer than a couple of seconds now what with all the interference thanks to the sun almighty."

Desmond looked back at his screen, not offering any further comment on the matter. So they were finally on the move, were they? He didn't know where those particular cops were stationed, but judging by the tones of their voices it didn't appear to be anywhere in the direct vicinity. So that allowed _some_ breathing room.

Some. But not enough.

"They're going to be here any time between now and midnight," Shaun continued as he yawned and stood from his chair. Then he passed by Desmond, clapping him on the back as he raised his voice. "So keep up your diligent search there, Desmond." And then he left. Desmond didn't bother to ask where he was going – he didn't particularly _want_ to know, as busy as his thoughts were currently with the issue at hand.

So he returned his gaze to the computer, watching the feed silently as he rested his chin in his palm.

He wondered how they were going to fight against Abstergo when they eventually came barging in. He wondered how many men they'd have. He knew that it wouldn't be a problem to dispatch them, given how he and Clay had handled themselves back in Brazil and Italy – and they _did_ have the Apple. Granted, however, it wouldn't be a good idea to keep relying on that when things got too out of hand, but when it was absolutely necessary…

He sighed, not wanting to think down that particular road just yet.

So he refocused his attention on calmly watching the cameras, idly musing on the fact that this was perhaps the only time he'd ever had to himself fully since his kidnapping in September. And despite how often he used to long for some time alone… he found that now he'd much prefer it if someone was with him. At least it didn't make him feel vulnerable – considering the fixation Juno had on him. That reason among many others, of course.

He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head and letting a soft sigh fall from his lips.

"You told him about New York, did you?"

He nodded, smiling faintly and tilting his head to look at Clay, the blond approaching from the bridge. He'd heard him just a minute ago when he'd been trapped in his musings, and he was glad that the man had come back. His hair was still damp from his shower and Desmond could see stray strands of blond locks brushing over his brow before they were smoothed away by a hand as Clay sighed and ran a palm through his hair. A thoughtful look was in his eyes as he drew up beside him, leaning against the nearby wall and crossing his arms over his chest. Desmond continued to watch him, guessing by the look on Clay's face that he'd just had a chat with William.

"I take it he called you over when you came back out here?"

Clay nodded.

"Yeah… yeah he did. He told me something pretty interesting, too…" He said quietly, and Desmond merely shrugged, not giving anything away though they both knew that it was thanks to Desmond that William had mustered the courage to tell Clay exactly what he'd told his son. And Desmond could see it now in Clay's eyes – the satisfaction, the delight that knowing his mentor was still proud of him despite everything that had happened. And Desmond would be lying if he said he wasn't feeling rather proud himself.

"Man, where do I even begin…" Clay muttered, laughing faintly and pushing away from the wall. Desmond shrugged again, still smiling as he nodded his head in the direction of Shaun's computer.

"You can start by listening to that radio feed. They're on their way now."

Clay looked at the computer, and Desmond watched as Clay apparently decided against it after a moment, merely shrugging his own shoulders and turning his back on the screen.

"I don't really think I need to hear it," he said simply. Then he looked up, nodding his head in William's direction where the man could be seen seated at the computers still near the far end of the bridge.

"Thanks…" He murmured quietly after a minute, looking back down at Desmond again. And he meant it – in all its entirety. Desmond waved it off, smiling as Clay went to grab himself some coffee.

"Don't mention it."

Clay grinned, coming back and sitting down next to him, passing the younger man a spare cup of coffee to which Desmond thanked him and took a sip. When he'd placed his drink back down Desmond smiled again when he felt the light brush of fingers by his own, and he tightened his hand around Clay's as they sat there, both watching the cameras.

"So this is it, is it?" Desmond turned to look back at Clay, who'd spoken up after a few minutes of silence. The man had a pensive look in his eyes. "Sitting here for nine hours straight."

"What else _can_ we do?" Desmond asked him, picking up his coffee with his free hand and taking another sip. Clay's brows furrowed lightly and he looked at the man beside him, simply gazing at him for a long moment.

"Absolutely nothing." His voice was quiet. "Kind of makes me wish the sun would hurry up. I really wanna punch Juno in the face, I'm not gonna lie."

Desmond laughed despite himself at that, turning his gaze back to the computer.

"You and me both."

The answering chuckle from Clay was bittersweet, as was the small smile on his lips. Reflexively, he tightened his hand around Desmond's own, and the rest of the afternoon passed in silence, the two simply sitting there side by side… waiting for the world to end.

* * *

Dinner was a solemn event that evening; in fact, it was the only night over the course of the past two months where no one said a single word to each other. Everyone was exhausted. Exhausted and at their wits' end.

It was perhaps made all the more solemn for both Desmond and Clay, as halfway during the groups' meagre meal of pizza, Desmond had frozen stiff in his chair – and when Clay had glanced up at him, eyes narrowed in concern, Desmond had merely nodded his head in a direction in front of him and all Clay had had to do was follow the man's gaze… and he saw her. Juno. Standing there, much where she'd been the last time she'd shown herself.

And she was gazing right at them.

Clay had tensed immediately – he didn't say anything for fear of alerting the others, but he _did_ shift uncomfortably in his seat. The last time he'd seen those cold, dead eyes was when she'd appeared before him in a fevered nightmare back in Abstergo… and she'd whispered to him, told him that in order to pass on her message to Desmond, a sacrifice had to be made… that sacrifice being his own life.

He narrowed his eyes, not wanting to back down now, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. He wanted her to _know_ that he wasn't afraid of her – that he had a reason to live, to keep on going now. He was going to make sure everyone made it out of this temple tonight, and if she wanted to stop them… well… she'd have to try a _lot_ harder than that.

Desmond on the other hand simply looked tired, no doubt having become well accustomed to seeing her popping up every so often now, considering how often she'd been haunting his dreams and emails. He ignored her as best he could, focusing on stuffing his face with the last of his pizza, Clay doing likewise. And sure enough, when they looked up again she was no longer there.

They'd shared a look, and they kept on eating.

After their food everyone remained sitting together, washing down the pizza with coffee or beer (whatever they'd been bothered to get their hands on first, though ultimately it made no difference either way seeing as no one was particularly thirsty). Rebecca had her back turned to her computer, gazing down at the ground with solemn eyes as she cupped her hands around the coffee mug in her hold. William was leaning against the wall in private conversation with Shaun, though he often looked over at Desmond to give him a small smile of reassurance (as best as he could manage) or to simply look at him and take stock, realising that if everything went wrong tonight… this might just be the last memory he'd have of him.

Clay and Desmond continued to remain sitting quietly together, sipping slowly from their beers every so often as they paid no one any attention save for the computer and the video feeds that were still running. They'd only had three breaks including dinner in doing so since they'd sat down there earlier on in the afternoon, but if they were honest with one another they hadn't given that matter any thought, as lost in the need to remain vigilant and focused as they were.

So it perhaps came as no surprise that everyone gathered started and blinked, looking confusedly around when the sound of Rebecca's quiet voice seemed to echo sharply around the asphyxiating silence of the temple hall.

"What time is it?"

Shaun was the first to react, the man sighing as he glanced down at his watch.

"Quarter to eleven," he mumbled.

A silence just as heavy as the one before it seemed to blanket itself over the assassins once more.

"Jesus…" Rebecca muttered. The quick glances they shared with one another indicated that everyone else wholeheartedly agreed with that. They'd been here for almost eight hours. Still no sign of Abstergo, and the world was due to draw to a close in an hour and fifteen minutes. Time was direly running out.

Desmond stood from his seat then, placing his empty beer bottle down on the nearby desk and stretching as he made to turn away, wanting nothing more than to give his eyes some rest from the flickering of the computer screen. He'd been staring at that thing for so long he was starting to feel a headache forming.

He massaged his temples, strolling a few metres away from the rest of the group, inhaling and holding his breath for one second… two… three… then he exhaled and repeated until he started to feel better. He could feel Clay's eyes on him the whole time, but both of them knew that there was nothing either of them could do that would make anything remotely better right now.

They were getting anxious – anxious and they were unable to do _anything_. They were hopeless – well and truly. And Juno knew that. Which, Desmond had mused darkly in his head some few hours ago, was probably the exact reason _why_ she was blocking that gate in the first place.

Not that he hadn't thought of that earlier on during the day… but now, he was almost _certain_.

He didn't bother to sit back down, having no desire to rest his legs any more than he'd been doing already. He wanted to walk around, to get the feeling back in his limbs. He wanted to distract himself as much as possible from what lay ahead, and sitting down in front of a computer itching to catch some sign of Abstergo and feeling the looming anxiety slowly take hold and consume his mind certainly wasn't going to help with that.

So when loud yells of shock from the monitors erupted through the silent space some fifteen minutes later reverberated through his ears, he jumped and sprinted over, heart pounding wildly, sweat beading on his brow as he placed a hand on Clay's shoulder, joining him, Shaun and William in gaping widely at Rebecca who'd lurched upwards from her chair.

"The feed's gone!" She cried out.

"What do you mean _gone_?!" Shaun answered, not even bothering to mask how scared he sounded. Desmond felt his chest constrict tightly and he had to force himself to swallow the thick lump that formed in his throat – and glancing at Clay now they shared one single, knowing look.

The time for waiting was over. It had finally begun.

"It's not caused by electronics," Rebecca was muttering as she feverishly began checking the computers, trying to boot them up again. She groaned, slamming her hand down on the desk and trying to take a deep breath to steady herself. "It must be from outside… the sun… it's causing too much interference."

Another silent look around the group confirmed that this was probably not far from the truth – the sun was still high in the sky if the cameras had anything to say about that before they'd suddenly lost power. No one had seen anything that remotely resembled the night sky since the day before.

"So what do we do now?!" Shaun exclaimed, sounding agitated and impatient as he took a step back. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. "We haven't got a bloody clue about when Abstergo decide to pop up, now!"

Desmond had never seen him like this before – frantic, uncertain, horrified. But then, given the circumstances and the fact that everyone had been playing a god damn waiting game for the past whole day, tensions having soared to the highest point that anyone could remember them being since this entire fucking thing started, well… he didn't blame him. Not one bit.

That was when William stepped forward, and as soon as he did, it was clear that he was once again in charge – calm, collected. Determined.

"We need to not lose our heads over this," he reminded everyone, Shaun especially as he fixed him with a steady gaze. "Our cameras weren't going to last forever. But we still have well over an hour to sort ourselves out. Rebecca, see what you can do to try and bring them back online. Can we contact anyone?"

"No… our communications are down too," Rebecca whispered, sounding hoarse. She fixed wide eyes on William. "I can't get anything… the computers are completely dead."

Beside him Desmond felt Clay tense ever so slightly, his shoulders squaring under his touch. He looked at him reflexively and he saw the reason why – brown eyes widened and just like that, Desmond felt his stomach drop from inside him, a dark, swelling surge of dread rising to his very core and settling there, overwhelming and absolute.

The barrier was starting to shimmer, as if the substance it was made of had caught fire in the sun's rays and began to dance hypnotising patterns of light across the bridge face. The patterns crisscrossed here and there – maddening tricks of light, brightening and strengthening in force until it was almost all that he could see… he'd taken a step closer, and then another… Clay beside him as they drew ever nearer to the phenomena playing before their very eyes, having no choice but to shield their faces when it grew too strong to look at directly…

And as one they stopped dead in their tracks, hands falling loosely back to their sides, the light growing dark as the barrier hissed, seemed to spit in defiance of finally being broken down after so long, and it simply disappeared into all but nothing, fading away as if it had never been there. As if it had never existed.

The key fell to the ground with a loud, echoing clang.

And that's where it stayed.

The loud gasps of shock echoing around the temple hall from behind them indicated that they hadn't been the only ones to bear witness to that phenomenon. And so when Clay turned his head, meeting Desmond's eyes once again, it was a grim look of acceptance that they shared.

Acceptance because they knew that already the planet outside was starting to burn. If they wasted any time now… it would be too late.

"What in the hell—" William had started to whisper, but he was cut off before he could finish his words. No one dared to give voice to their thoughts, to question aloud what it was that they were seeing before them… because what they _were_ seeing before them here, right now, was surely impossible.

And as they swept their eyes over the others present, both Desmond and Clay knew that this time it wasn't just them that she had decided to show herself to. She wanted everyone to know that she was there, just as she had always been since the moment they'd first set foot in this godforsaken place.

Juno stood calmly, patiently at the end of the bridge, her hand extended forwards in silent gesture at the lone pedestal that even from the other end of the temple could be seen thrumming with white-hot energy. Her robes billowed around her ghostly form, as if caught in the breeze of a phantom wind. Her eyes, dead, white and unblinking, were focused solely on Desmond himself.

He sighed, already making to approach, Clay right there beside him as they prepared to cross the threshold.

"Wait… is… is _that_ —"

"It is," Desmond muttered, cutting Shaun off. He didn't bother offering any more than that, seeing as he found he wasn't in any particular mood to talk about her right now. They were halfway there.

"Everything's going to go to shit from here," he whispered to Clay beside him after a minute. Clay nodded, a grim smile fixing itself firmly over his lips the closer they drew towards the lone figure waiting silently before them.

"I've got your back, Desmond. Remember that."

Desmond nodded. He wasn't going to forget that any time soon.

Juno was close now – so close in fact, that as they drew further towards her towering form, one could almost feel the blood draining from their face as she lowered her head and fixed those cold, dead eyes upon the assassins now standing before her, cast in the overpowering shadow that was her very presence.

The pedestal, now that Desmond managed to get a brief glimpse of it before he found his attention drawn away again, appeared to have been crafted from a dark substance not unlike the materials the rest of the temple was crafted from. It was plain, unassuming, save for the sizeable glowing blue orb nestled neatly in the centre, marked here and there with intricate black grooves from which small glowing streams of energy – some kind of data, perhaps? – curled like wisps of steam from hot water. It was warm, too. Even from where he was standing some three feet away from it, he could feel the pulsing heat emanating off it in waves. He shivered, feeling goosebumps prickle uncomfortably along his arms. It was a striking contrast to how cold the rest of the place was.

Juno's lips moved, and she began to speak.

" _Yes… come."_

Desmond narrowed his eyes, not wanting to back down under the intensity of her gaze as she moved forwards, making no noise on the temple floor. Clay had stepped closer to him, body tense, alert. They didn't know what she was planning… but they would be damned if they didn't know that the emotionless gaze her eyes held as she looked at the two was one which expertly masked some deeper, darker intention within… she was like a spider, luring prey into her well-woven web of lies. She couldn't be trusted. She knew of their mistrust, too. Which was why she smiled – a smile filled with teeth which would clamp down and crush with biting, cruel words if given the chance.

" _Here… at last… the time has come. The sun has awakened. You know our story now. Of how we tried… of how we failed. All our hopes extinguished. Save one…"_ She rested her palm against the glowing orb before her, Shaun, William and Rebecca taking tentative steps closer as if to somehow catch some sight of what she was doing. Desmond and Clay remained where they stood, matching Juno's unblinking stare with ones of their own. Juno spoke again, and this time her words were soft – tender, as if they were words spoken as one caressing a lover, filled with all manner of promise, of hope as she rose her palm to reach out to Desmond.

" _Your touch. A spark. A spark to save the world—"_

What more she would have said was cut off sharply by a loud cry behind them.

" _Wait! Do_ not _touch the pedestal!"_

Desmond whipped his head around, and for a moment… he was frozen. His eyes widened and he felt his jaw grow slack and drop at the sound of that voice, so foreign and yet so familiar to him even as a lone figure appeared and approached; dressed in loose, draping garments, her long hair swept behind her in a fury as she raced forwards with limbs delicate and skin a pale ivory. Her eyes, unlike Juno's, held colour – they shone a deep, unbridled gold, sharp and intelligent beyond her years, perhaps beyond the years of even her own people. And the last time he had seen those eyes had been when she was looking straight at him, even as he saw her through the eyes of Ezio, in the vault hidden deep beneath the Sistine Chapel.

"Minerva?!" He could barely manage to choke out the word, let alone think it. What the hell was going on?! He felt Clay's hand on his arm and he shared a look with the blond, shaking his head to silently convey to the man that he was just as clueless about this as the rest of them were. He vaguely heard the mutterings of Shaun from close by, the Brit still having the nerve to whisper under his breath how curiously fascinating he found this. He wanted to yell at him then – _we don't have time for this! The world is about to end!_ – but he couldn't speak. Juno had beaten him to it.

" _You?! But_ how?! _You left! You destroyed the device!"_ Her tone had changed, echoing fear as it rose to a shrill cry, Juno striding forwards with white eyes nestled solely on Minerva's form. Minerva appeared unfazed, and her eyes narrowed as her bottom lip curled into something that was shockingly reminiscent of a sneer.

" _Did you think there was only one?"_

Desmond could almost feel his head spinning. He heard movement beside him, and he turned his head as his father muttered coarsely in utter disbelief.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Minerva's gaze swivelled down, and though it didn't appear that she was staring at him _directly_ , the unsettling feeling of her eyes boring into his remained. William stood his ground, but even from where they were standing, everyone could see that it wasn't easy. Then, calmly, Minerva's eyes swivelled solely onto Desmond, and the look he saw echoed in her face was one which he realised made him even more unsettled than any look that Juno could fire his way.

It unsettled him because there, in her eyes right now, was the look of someone who had lost all hope, and was pleading with him against all odds.

" _You must not free her."_

And just like that, everything at last fell into place.

"Free her?" Desmond echoed, his voice sounding hollow. He heard a dry chuckle from beside him, and he turned to see Clay running a hand through his hair.

"Of fucking course…" He muttered under his breath. His eyes found Desmond's again, and the pair shared a grim smile just as they had earlier. It made perfect sense. Why Juno was so eager for Desmond to open the gate… why she'd waited this long, until it was time for the world to draw to a close before she revealed to them the reason for her desperation in the first place… why it was Desmond and Desmond alone she would haunt at night and in emails… he was the final piece of the puzzle. She was trapped here, just like the rest of them.

He'd have to free her, and in exchange… well… in exchange, what? Neither of them wanted to know. But unfortunately as they glanced back up at the two figures before them, Minerva and Juno… they realised they might not have to wait too long for the answer to that question to reveal itself.

Especially seeing as how Juno had grown quiet, her lips unmoving. If they didn't know any better it looked like she, for once, looked tense. Uncertain.

Scared.

Minerva strode forwards, her voice rising in urgency as she slowly paced a tight circle around the assassins gathered in front of the pedestal.

" _Juno dwells within these walls, awaiting release. I will explain. While we worked to save the world, she sought instead to conquer it. She used our machines to set her plans in motion."_ She extended her hand, indicating the pedestal which still glowed hotly before them. _"Divination through numbers. There is a pattern to existence... to comprehend the calculations is to tame time – this was my focus. And so I built the Eye to aid us. But she turned it towards her own ends."_

Her hand dropped from the pedestal – the Eye, she had called it – and Minerva rose her head to fix hauntingly golden eyes sharply on Juno beside her, her voice coated with all form of malice.

" _When we discovered her treachery, we put a stop to it. And then we left. But first we called to you—"_ and once more, Desmond found those golden eyes trained solely on him, _"—that you might try again. We thought it would be safe with her gone. Now I see we were deceived. She survived. She endured. And then, she began to work."_

Minerva grew silent as she stilled, now standing behind the group who could do nothing but gaze hopelessly upwards at the figures before them.

"Why is she bothering explaining all this?" Desmond heard William hiss from somewhere behind him. "We're running out of time!"

They were. And for once Desmond couldn't fault his father for his impatience. However, impatient or no, Minerva didn't see fit to hurry her words.

" _For centuries, Tinia and I walked the world, hoping to rekindle the spark of civilisation. We shared what we knew as best we could. We were not the only ones. But for all the power we wrought, still death would claim us. But before it did, I would have one last look to know if we had succeeded…"_

It was only when she had paused again to fix solemn eyes upon the Eye that Desmond frowned, taking a cautious step forwards as he looked first from the pedestal then back up to her.

"That's how you're here now?" He asked quietly, and he was answered with a single, affirmative nod.

" _I had hoped you might find this place and finish our work,"_ Minerva continued, and there was a hard edge to her otherwise soft voice, as if the words she was saying now were words which caused her great physical pain. _"But it is too late. You and the Templars have squabbled over our refuse. You have wasted centuries. And so you have lost your chance. You cannot hope to stop the end now, Desmond. Only to survive it."_

He could hear the soft gasps circulating behind him from Rebecca and Shaun, William on the other hand having fallen completely silent – though the slow horror, the slow realisation of the implication behind Minerva's words spread across his face, and he grew slack-jawed. Clay on the other hand had narrowed his eyes, his hand on Desmond's shoulder the only small form of comfort Desmond felt he had in that moment.

He knew that it would come down to this – trying to survive the end of the world. But to hear those words uttered so bluntly, so… _surely_ … _"You cannot hope to stop the end now"_ … he felt numb. He'd have to do something. He'd have to find… something, _somewhere,_ to get them all out of this nightmare. Failure wasn't an option here – the world was about to end and he had to _save_ it, damn it! Isn't that what they'd been trying to get him to do these past three months?!

He was feeling angry. Angry and pissed off and _so fucking frustrated_. He clenched his hands by his sides. He was glad Clay chose that moment to step in because otherwise he would have likely snapped.

"So you're saying you dragged us down here just to tell us that we're not going to be able to do anything about that sun out there?" The blond asked icily. "No offence but I'm kind of struggling to see the point of that. Just tell us what you want or otherwise you can forget it."

Desmond looked at him, and he caught the sidelong glance Clay offered in his direction, seeing the look in the blond's eyes. Then he smiled. He could see what the man was playing at – it was obvious that Juno was on edge, Minerva's appearance having unnerved her greatly. Whatever Minerva had accused Juno of doing in the past still reigned true, if the unexpected horror, the fear crossing Juno's eyes was anything to go by. So by forcing her to spit it out, to finally reveal to them just what the hell she'd been so eager to get Desmond's hand on that pedestal for, what better way than to threaten turning around and leaving? If what Minerva was saying about there being no hope for the planet was true, then they couldn't do anything anyway. There was no point.

And it worked.

Juno broke her silence, her white eyes wide, wild as she rose her hands and raised her voice, her cry seeming to echo around the temple walls.

" _She's lying! Only touch the pedestal and the world WILL be saved!"_

" _Better the world burn than_ she _be loosed upon it!"_ Minerva interrupted, golden eyes swivelling to face Desmond again.

He was going to protest, to cry out to get them to just _shut up_ for five _goddamn minutes_ when Juno cut in, quick like a snake and her words even more poisonous.

" _Is that so?"_ She breathed, and the malice, the cold-hearted loathing in her voice, her unblinking eyes was enough to make Desmond take a step back, though her words were not aimed at him. Minerva held her gaze, seeming unfazed as her golden eyes stared coolly back at her apparent nemesis. Seeing as she now had her attention, Juno extended her hand, her palm outstretched and facing towards Desmond. Her smirk was slight, but it was no less cruel. _"Show him, then."_

This caught Desmond's attention, as well as the attention of those standing beside him.

 _Show me?_ He echoed her words inside his head. _Show me what?_ He didn't like where this was going. He needed to get out. He looked down at the pedestal again.

Minerva faltered then, and for the first time since seeing her standing here before him, Desmond looked up to see that her golden eyes had now been masked with uncertainty. She'd taken a step back. Juno's smile only grew. The conflict was clearly evident in Minerva's face, her otherworldly features twisting into something that vaguely reminisced the furrowing of someone's brow when they were agitated.

" _But he will not understand… it is complicated… it is…"_ Her words failed her, and when she met Desmond's eyes once more, he'd shaken his head. Enough was enough. He needed a straight answer once and for all, and he was going to get it right now.

"Show me," he said, plain and simple. _Give me a reason why I should trust either of you._

Juno's smile was satisfied, and it was clear that as she stepped forwards, hands extended, she took great pleasure in raising her voice to speak, thwarting any attempt Minerva might have made to explain.

" _If you heed Minerva the sun will have its way. The ground will crack and spit fire into the sky. All the world will burn,"_ she began, talking in slow, measured strides as she circled them. " _But this does not end the world, merely heralds its arrival."_

Desmond blinked, jerking his head right up to fix his eyes on her. Beside him, he was aware of Clay growing still. Though they were both silent, it was clear by the looks on their faces that a similar thought had entered unbidden into their minds at those words: _the world isn't going to end? Does that mean… there might actually be a chance?_ Sadly though, in their lives they had often been proven wrong – and tonight was no exception as Juno continued to speak, her words a soft hiss as they echoed through hearts and minds.

" _Darkness follows. Then you emerge… resolving to lay a foundation that such a tragedy does not befall the world again. You will become a symbol to those who survive. Hope. Knowledge. Determination. You will inspire them to rebuild. To thrive once more. And as the world heals, so too will humanity… but you are just a man. Frail and mortal."_

When she looked back at Desmond again, it was impossible to miss the look of disgust in her calm stare.

" _You pass from the world, leaving behind only a memory. A… legacy. You will be remembered first as a hero. Later as a legend. And in time… as a god. It is the cruellest fate. To have written words that meant well – and see them made wicked and unwise. What was meant to encourage life – used instead to justify TAKING it!"_

The anger was back, back in full force as she swept her hand to Minerva beside her. Though when she spoke again after a moment of heavy silence, her words were noticeably more controlled… calm… cautious.

" _And so now you see… that what was shall be again. Your lust for war. For death. There is no escape from this path of destruction. You rise up, and you will take axe and club. And centuries pass, and you do so again with sword and gun. So tell me… how is this 'better'?"_

She'd walked towards him then, Desmond tensing as he saw her approach. Clay had tightened his grip on his shoulder, the man having reached out again – ready to step in if need be. But Juno ignored him, simply keeping her eyes focused on the younger assassin, Desmond finding himself completely at the mercy of those cold, dead eyes – just as he would always be whenever he saw them in his nightmares.

" _She would sacrifice you – sacrifice the_ world _– for no other reason than to deny me vindication."_

It was then that Minerva shook her head, her hands clasping tightly in front of her as she all but shook them pleadingly.

" _They will_ enslave _your kind, Desmond! Is this not why you fight? Is this not why you came here? To ensure more than just your race's future, but its_ freedom _?"_ As he looked at her, Desmond felt his throat steadily tighten, his mouth feeling dry. He was running out of options here… the sun was just about to come raining down – they'd been here for too long, pointlessly arguing about consequences which would happen no matter what path he took… of course it would help if he could just _understand_ exactly what it was that either side _wanted_ from him…

" _What future?! What FREEDOM?!"_ Juno's cry echoed once more through the temple, and it was all the assassins could do to not wince against the thundering shrillness that her voice became. " _BILLIONS dead and the whole cycle begun anew?! This world has known NOTHING but heartache and horror since we left it!"_

" _Our gift to them. And you'd see it all returned—"_

"ENOUGH!"

They stopped, a heavy silence echoing around the temple walls in place of those shrill cries as eyes turned to fix on Desmond, who stood there, panting faintly and rubbing a hand over his face. His throat felt raw from the hoarse yell he'd bellowed, his patience at its absolute end. When he opened his eyes again, they were narrowed – throwing as much anger, as much desperation as he could behind his livid stare.

"Desmond…" He heard Clay's quiet warning beside him, but he didn't pay the blond any mind. Out the corner of his eye he saw Rebecca and Shaun share a look, William eyeing his son with no small manner of desperation in his gaze. Desmond swallowed the thick lump in his throat, but it wasn't enough to reassure him. He saw where this was going. Either way, it was an impossible path to take. The world about to come to a close, and only two options possible to help save it… and in the end, no matter what he did... it would happen all over again. Again… and again… and again.

With a bitter smile, he realised Juno was right. How _was_ this better?

" _You must not do this…"_ Minerva whispered, stepping towards him again now. The harsh pleading tone of her gentle voice sounded odd coming from her lips now, the more Desmond listened to it. These people… these… First Civilisation beings… they were too proud to beg, to plead with lesser races. And yet here they were. Trying to do just that, to beg, to plead with him. To choose the impossible. He was sick of it.

"Whatever Juno's planning… however terrible it might seem today… we'll find a way to stop it," he began, measuring his words slowly. He felt Clay's hand tighten on his shoulder, saw the shocked glances thrown his way by his father and Rebecca and Shaun, but one quick glance back at them assured them that he was not ready to make any kind of choice just yet. He wanted some more time. Just one more minute to decide. So he looked back at Minerva, and he held her golden eyes in a steady gaze. "But the alternative, what you want… there's no hope there."

" _If you free her… you'll be destroyed."_ Minerva's sharp warning almost made him smile. Almost. At least she wasn't pleading with him anymore.

" _It will happen in an instant. There will be no pain,"_ Juno added, no doubt trying to make her words sound reassuring, or as close to that human emotion as she could see fit to manage in an attempt to sway him. It was then that Clay let his hand drop from Desmond's shoulder, and Desmond was left blinking as the blond stepped in front of him, rage kindling in his sharp blue eyes even though he'd raised his voice to bark out a coarse laugh.

"You can't _seriously_ expect that to work, right?"

Desmond was roused out of his thoughts then, trying to pull the man back.

"Clay—"

"No, I mean it Desmond. Here we all are wasting god knows how much precious fucking time we have left, and Juno's suddenly saying that in order to save the fucking planet you have to _kill_ yourself to set her free when she's done _nothing_ but torture the both of us for the past three fucking months – am I the only one who _sees how fucked up this is?!_ " His words were bitter, having no real bite to them even as he yelled sharply at the man beside him. They'd had this conversation before, after all. Many times. Try as they might to fool themselves into thinking that they would make it to see the next sunrise, they both knew that in order to live through this night, a sacrifice of some kind would have to be made. So why was it suddenly so hard to accept? Why did this decision have to tear away at him, claw deeply into his head and threaten to make his sanity spill over all over again just like it had done when Juno had first spoken to him, told him to do the exact same thing… to end his own life so that the world could live on just that _little_ bit longer for Desmond to pick up where he left off?

"Were you even _listening_ to Minerva?"

Juno's smile grew triumphant.

" _And so you see that my words ring true. Clay Kaczmarek, here at last to try to turn you from the path, Desmond. I warned you, yet you would not listen."_

Clay rounded on her.

"Hey, do me a favour and _go fuck yourself!_ " He yelled, shoving his arm away from Desmond when the younger man made to pull him back again.

"He's not turning me from any path, Juno," Desmond answered, eyes narrowed. He couldn't keep the hostility from his voice even if he'd tried. That seemed to cause Clay to relax somewhat, and the man looked back at him, his eyes searching his face. Desmond calmly met his stare, and his hand lessened its grip around his arm.

"But—"

He was going to finish, to say what needed to be said, but he didn't get the chance. Because at that moment, two things happened at once. First, the sound of voices echoed through the temple halls behind them, voices coming from the direction of the tunnels. They were so quiet the assassins had barely registered them at first, but the louder they grew, the closer they sounded… the more they were able to pick apart words, separate whispers from people speaking loudly, calling for backup.

Desmond felt his stomach drop from inside of him, and the look he shared with Clay, then with his father, Rebecca and Shaun, was a look that confirmed all they needed to know.

Abstergo was finally here.

_Talk about perfect timing._

"Shit!" William hissed under his breath, parting a last fearful glance in his son's direction. "Son—"

"Go!" Desmond jerked his head in the direction of the tunnels. "Do something to distract them—"

"What are you doing?!" Clay tightened his hand around his wrist, his fingers crushing down almost painfully as he made to pull the man away as soon as Desmond had taken a step closer towards the pedestal. Time was running out. And he had ran out of options. Minerva and Juno had long since disappeared, the phantoms fading into nothing but the very air around them – their work apparently having drawn to a close.

"DESMOND!" Rebecca's cry echoed in the air around them over the quickly-forming commotion, lights dancing at the tunnel entrance and voices sounding higher, louder now as the first glimpses of men carrying torches and guns could be seen in the flickers of the flashlights.

"Rebecca, Shaun, hold them off! Dad! Get out of here, _please!_ " Desmond's cry was frantic, desperate now as he met their eyes, seeing Rebecca and Shaun share a final, conflicted look with him before nodding and racing off towards the tunnels. The voices grew louder. William remained steadfast, not moving a muscle as he shook his head. Desmond found that what little patience he had left now drew thin, hanging on by a mere thread as he yanked his arm away from Clay's restraining grip, and he grabbed his father by the shoulders, looking him firmly in the eye as he gazed pleadingly at him.

"Dad, you have to get out of here!"

"Son, no—" William tried to grapple with him. Desmond wasn't having any of it.

"Get as far away from here as you can! I'll… I'll catch up, I'll—" He wasn't. And William knew it too. His grip was firm as he grasped Desmond by the shoulders in turn, already making to try and pull his son away.

What words he was going to utter next was lost over the sharp booming overhead of what sounded like thunder, rippling through the air and crashing down around their very ears. Desmond winced, as did his father and Clay, the three of them soon finding themselves thrown off balance as the floor growled, rumbled and began to tremble – shuddering underneath their weight like an earthquake was tearing through the ground below them.

Out of options, Desmond did the only thing he could do in that moment. He fixed his father a final, desperate glance – trying to force as much of a reassuring smile onto his lips as he could in that moment. He gripped the man tightly by the shoulders, and as he steadied his footing against the trembling floor, the ominous sound of cracking and the visible shards of debris already beginning to rain down from on high, he pushed as hard as he could – throwing his father back, opening his mouth to bellow at him, momentarily blocking the sound of the piercing convulsions of the earth with his loud, pleading cry.

"GO! _GO!"_

Another tremulous explosion shook the earth, the screams and startled yells of the Abstergo agents already drowning out the sound of the quake as columns ripped apart around them. Desmond scrambled back, yelping out in shock as a pillar splintered above his head and if it wasn't for Clay pulling him back, roughly shoving him aside – the shards of rock that thundered to the ground, shattering the bridge under their sheer weight – would have crushed him completely.

Gasping, he barely managed to blink away the stunned daze in his brain as he was brought to his feet again, and he found himself looking directly into two scared blue eyes, Clay not even bothering to mask how frightened, how hurt, how betrayed he felt in that moment.

"What are you _doing_ , Desmond?!" He yelled. Desmond tried to grapple with the hold Clay held around his wrist, but the blond wasn't letting go any time soon. Clay growled under his breath, steeling himself and holding his ground when Desmond tried to push him away, tried to elbow him in the chest, tried to do _something_ to knock him back. " _WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"_

Desmond tried to push away the guilt, the shame that crushed his heart in its ice-cold grip as he yanked his hand away and finally managed to stop the other man long enough so he could grab him by the hand, meeting his eyes and trying to make him understand even as the temple began to crumble, to shake all around them. They could barely hear the screams of the agents in the background over the sound of their own heartbeats, the sound of the earth shuddering and trembling beneath them.

"Do you see any other option, Clay?!" He yelled out, needing to raise his voice again to make himself heard.

Clay narrowed his eyes, his hand tightening around Desmond's as he yelled right back.

"Yes! You said you were going to make it through this, Desmond! You _can't_ touch that pedestal!"

Desmond faltered, groaning as he tried to pull away. Clay wasn't going to let him. His grip was crushing now, Desmond almost wincing against how tight the man's hand was around his.

"Clay, the _world is about to end—_ "

"We'll find another way—"

" _Billions_ of people are going to die if I don't do this! This is what Juno was planning all along, Clay! She _knew_ I couldn't make that choice – I _still_ can't! And I don't want to just stand here and wait for that sun to blow the place up just so I can wake up to _see everyone dead because of it!_ Because even if I survive this… everyone else, you, Shaun, Rebecca, dad... you all _won't!_ So we _can't!_ —"

"YES WE CAN!" Clay was frantic now, his eyes wide as he tried to pull Desmond back. Desmond struggled, faltering for a moment before gritting his teeth and wrenching himself away. He approached the pedestal. Clay growled scathingly under his breath, casting a last hopeless glance around him at the temple – it was collapsing. Fast. A few more minutes and they would be dead and buried under the rubble if they didn't make it across that bridge in time. He could hear the sound of gunshots and screams over the trembling groans of the earth, and he could only hope that the others were safe. A quick look behind him showed him that William was nowhere in sight.

He'd left. Just like the others had. A cold shudder ran through him.

"Y'know, that day I helped you get off the Island…" And Clay turned his head, his eyes meeting Desmond's again as the man spoke up, his voice calmer now, calm yet pained as he stood with a hand outstretched towards the pedestal, "I knew it was a mistake."

Clay took a step forwards, his eyes darting first from the pedestal then back up to Desmond, hearing his words but not able to fully comprehend them – not when the entire temple was wasting away, collapsing around them.

"We have to get out of here, Desmond—"

"I knew I was going to pay for it by getting you out because Juno was never going to stop hounding the both of us down… and now…" And just like that, Desmond's shoulders slumped, his eyes at last weary with defeat as he let his emotions go, just let himself give in to the nightmare that was drowning him whole, pulling him under. He couldn't do this. His hand shook. And as he cast another weary glance up at the blond, meeting Clay's eyes… he knew right there, right then… that all this really had been for nothing.

_I can't do this._

His mouth was dry.

"… I'm sorry…"

Clay growled, his blue eyes seeming to glow as violently as the waves emitting off the pedestal as Desmond lowered his hand further to its white-hot centre.

"I didn't die just for you to throw your life away so carelessly, Desmond!"

When he saw the blank look in Desmond's eyes, the man freezing where he stood at Clay's words, Clay growled again and ran towards him. _For fuck's sake…_

"What are you doing—" That was all Desmond could get out of his mouth in time as Clay reached out, raising his hand high above him. For one crazy minute Desmond thought he was going to strike him – hell, he probably deserved it – but when he saw the way Clay's hand was aligned, hovering neatly over the pedestal beside his, it took only a split second for the realisation to come crashing down around him. His eyes widened tenfold, and panic – all-encompassing and overwhelming – took hold and firmly rooted itself to his heart. He shook his head, trying to shove his hand away.

"CLAY, NO—"

Clay's gaze was livid as he faced Desmond, blue eyes holding brown. He stepped closer, determination firmly plastered all over his face as he hissed at him, his words sharp, clear, and for a moment Desmond found that that was all that he could hear in that moment as those four words rang through his skull, filled with such conviction that it almost left him breathless.

"I'M _SAVING YOU, IDIOT!"_

He slammed his hand down on the pedestal, just as Desmond moved to do the same.

The temple exploded with white, glowing hot light – light which seemed to fizzle and burn everything in its path. The walls crumbled and shook, and archways caved in as the bridge collapsed, leaving a gaping maw in its path. Thunder tore apart the air, the cavern crushing in on itself as screams echoed in the corridors from those unlucky enough to not escape from the scuffle at the tunnel entrance.

One scream rose above all others – emanating directly from the centre of the pedestal, otherworldly, piercing, shrill – Juno's roar of defiance shattering the ground as her curses spat freely like lava from molten rock, before fading away as if carried off by a ghost wind, the temple at last falling silent once again when naught but the trembling sound of the earth remained.

And when the ground too eventually stopped shaking, the light dissipating into nothing, leaving behind a smoking, black orb where the glowing Eye of the pedestal once sat, two bodies slumped backwards onto the ground with a dull _thud_ , feeble, faint groans and gasps for breath sucked sharply from their lungs as they hit the debris-strewn floor. Their hands – palms charred black, fingers smoking and burnt – gave a final weakened twitch before they grew still.

Darkness swept over the temple, as it rushed in at last to claim the two collapsed together side by side.


	23. Chapter 23

He'd thought he'd been thrown back onto the Island, at first.

He couldn't remember anything that led up to that moment save for a brilliant, blinding flash of white. Numbers – a countless myriad of zeros and ones – bled one after the other before his very eyes until he felt dizzy. Felt entirely and utterly overwhelmed.

He heard a voice – or was it a voice? He couldn't be sure. It was high-pitched, angered, ending on a chilling wail as her screams tore through his ears and thundered through his brain. For a moment he thought that this would at last be where he died – where he well and truly died. No construct to save him. He _was_ the construct… just an AI. Just a computer. Made of the very same zeros and ones that flashed before him right now.

Then they faded away. Just like that.

And the world grew dark.

He thought he'd at last slipped into a coma, either that or he had finally resigned himself to that endless sleep… met with the same fate that beheld his body… did they save the Earth? Who knew. He couldn't open his eyes. He thought he was dead.

_So this is what it's like to finally die…_

He'd craved it, at one stage. That repose. That escape from the world of the living. But now...

Pain erupted through his body, rending through his very soul. He heard a voice crying out sharply, groaning in agony as white-hot torture seared through his hand. His mind was working overtime, trying to react, trying to find out what was going on, trying to understand…

The screams were his own. He knew this now. The agony racked his skull, made him see stars and made him curl in on himself as cold realisation came crashing down around him…

He wasn't dead. Not yet.

And that was when he opened his eyes.

* * *

His throat felt parched when a pained groan forced its way past his lips, his eyes feeling heavy as he tried to crack them open. He regretted it immediately the second he'd done so – light blinded him, and he reflexively blinked against the harsh onslaught.

His entire body was aching. He could barely move his hands, and when his fingers twitched, his muscles working overtime to try and get motion back, he realised his right hand couldn't move at all. Cussing through the pain, the sharp pangs of agony shooting through his chest, his shoulder and his brain, Clay tried to maintain as much hold on himself as he possibly could in that moment.

He tried to brace himself, to move his shoulder to align his left hand under him so he could push himself up, but the very second he did so it proved pointless. He coughed violently, shaking and heaving as vertigo rocketed through his skull and he fell back limply against the debris-strewn ground the moment he tried to apply his weight.

 _"Fuck…_ " He panted, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw against the growing need to be sick. He could feel his stomach churn violently deep inside him. His head was pounding. He could still see zeros and ones flash behind his eyes like a growing nightmare. A moment later they were gone again. He was delirious, he realised.

_The hell happened…?_

He didn't know. All he remembered was light… burning, bright light. The ground was shaking. The temple was coming down around them and if they didn't get out of there in time, Abstergo would—

"Desmond!"

His eyes widened, and Clay winced sharply against the shallow pain that flooded his chest when he inhaled a sharp breath as the man's name fell hoarsely from his lips. Coughing weakly, he tried to steady himself again, the pain suddenly not seeming to matter in the slightest as his memory slowly came back to him.

Abstergo.

The temple.

The Eye.

Juno.

_Desmond._

"D-Des?!" He tried again – frantically now, barely able to get the words out as he sharply glanced around, feeling panic take hold and serving to momentarily dull the pain that gripped at his chest and arm. He could remember it now. The world was about to end. Desmond was going to place his hand on that pedestal… he tried to stop him, tried to reach out at the same time – they were going to do this together or not at all – _that_ was when the light exploded across his eyes and sent him sprawling back into unconsciousness. He could remember it. All of it. The pain that seared through his arm, the pedestal white-hot to the touch and the smell of burning skin assaulting his senses as his groans of agony were muffled over the explosion…

He didn't know how long he'd been out, but what he _did_ know was that Desmond was still here… he _had_ to be. Now if he could just _move_ …

Gritting his teeth again he willed his strength to last for just long enough so as to allow him to sit up. His muscles were screaming at him when he shakily got to his knees, and no sooner had he done so had he slumped back onto them, biting his lip to muffle the fresh groan of agony that threatened to spill forth from his mouth.

_Fuck… I'm never gonna get anywhere like this…_

His head was still spinning, and glancing around him now, his vision thankfully having cleared somewhat over the course of the past few minutes, he saw what had become of the temple around them after the earthquake.

It was total chaos.

Where pillars had been before now there was rubble; large boulders of rock crumbled where they lay against the ground. The bridge was all but gone – caved in, and if he concentrated hard enough he could just manage to pick out a way across it if he used the rubble strewn here and there, but even then… with these injuries, he wouldn't be getting very far.

The place was cold. Far colder than it had been before. And the silence was so thick, so heavy that he felt it physically painful to breathe.

Either that or it was the fact that his lungs felt like they were crushed, his heart beating painfully inside his chest, each uneven tempo searing like a sharp bullet wound. He felt sluggish… for a minute his vision darkened again and he slammed his left hand down against the rock by his feet in some effort to keep himself awake. Licking his dry lips he threw his head back up again, turning this way and that, roaming his eyes over the destruction. The air was heavy with dust. It was hard to see.

In the end it was the white that gave it away. Sprawled on his back some few metres away, the shadow of the collapsed pillars almost hid him completely from sight if it wasn't for the way the sunlight broke through the gathering dust to illuminate the white sleeves of his hoodie for a brief moment before becoming obscured by ash once more. Clay didn't have time to worry about that – barely chancing a glance upwards to see the cave roof partly collapsed in as well to show the teasing field of blue sky as he'd tried to force himself to move, to make his way over to Desmond lying there, unconscious and seemingly unmoving.

Every inch forwards, each slow crawl was torture. Because crawling was all that he _could_ do, his legs too weak to support his weight if he tried to stand. He groaned, hissing against the pain as he knocked against sharp jutting rocks, but otherwise doing his best to ignore them as he tried to breathe, tried to force enough air through his aching lungs to get him to move closer. It took him ten minutes.

When he finally drew himself up next to Desmond's side, his legs now able to support enough of him to allow him to kneel on his knees beside the brown haired man, Clay found himself stopping. Reaching out with his left hand, he quickly ran a palm down Desmond's cheek, turning the man's head to the side so he could get a better look at him.

His face was bruised, scratched and smudged with dirt. No doubt from the explosion. He ignored the way similar charred-looking burns trailed up the length of the man's left hand, Clay instead putting all his focus into shaking him, checking him over, trying to see if he was ok. If he was still breathing.

He was.

Clay was unable to hold back the heavy sigh of relief that fell from his throat, hard enough to almost make him choke again straight after.

"Des?" He whispered through cracked lips, clearing his throat and swallowing to try and get his tongue working inside his mouth properly again so he could speak with more clarity. It worked, for a little bit at least. "Desmond…"

A feeble groan – faint but still audible – filtered from Desmond's lips and the slightest hint of a twitch of his fingers could be seen. Clay slumped back, ignoring the pain jolting through his body as the sigh escaped him, his hand working to grip Desmond's shoulder to shake him awake.

"Come on… wake…" He coughed again, his chest searing with pain. Clay groaned and fell back, his hand flying to his chest now, right over his heart. It was getting increasingly harder to breathe. He felt weak. "Wake up…"

When Desmond finally managed to crack his eyes open, immediately squeezing them shut the very second he'd done so, Clay at last took hold of his hand and pulled, trying to tug the man upwards into a seated position. Something mumbled feebly from Desmond's lips – it could have been words, but he sounded as weak as Clay felt – and his head lolled dangerously forwards before he finally seemed to regain some modicum of lucidity and allowed himself to come to, to grasp Clay's hand back weakly at first… but then with a strength which reassured the blond that he was here, that he wasn't going to pass out on him again any time soon.

He was alive.

They both were.

That realisation didn't hit him at first. But when it would… well, Clay would be sure to react properly. But for now…

 _"F-fuck…"_ Desmond hissed, wincing against the pain the light brought to his eyes when he tried to keep them open. Everything felt sore. He felt like a million fires had been set alight inside his battered, bruised body all at once. His mind exploded with pain. His chest even more so. He couldn't feel his left arm. He couldn't feel _anything_ aside from the agony that ripped through his very centre and made it so incredibly hard to focus. He was grateful someone was holding onto him and talking to him, because if he didn't have something solid to hold onto or something to focus his mind on other than the pain that burned violently through his core, he would have passed out again.

_What… what happened?_

He couldn't remember. He groaned, trying to stop his head from lolling forwards again. He felt bile threaten to rise in his throat.

"Hurts…" He didn't know if that was him speaking or someone else… the words sounded foreign as they slipped from his chapped lips. He felt that hand tighten around his own and fingers cup his cheek, forcing him to look up, look forwards. As soon as he met familiar blue eyes and a face that looked as battered and as bruised as no doubt his own face looked right now by the feel of things, everything came crashing back.

"Clay…" His voice sounded dry, croaking out in a hoarse whisper like he was a man parched with thirst. He felt delirious, unable to do anything save for force a laugh from his lips. A laugh which he soon immediately regretted as he threatened to topple forwards again, white-hot pain burning through his lungs. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying to think through the burn in his body.

 _Fuck…_ He was hurting so much right now he didn't even know if this was pain he was feeling or something else entirely, something no doubt Juno had reserved in some special goddamn motherfucking plane of hell for him.

"You son of a bitch," Clay chuckled, wincing soon after when his chest shuddered painfully straight after. Groaning again he dropped his hand from Desmond's cheek, wincing and managing as much of a smile as he could, though it came out as more of a grimace. "Had me worried then…"

Desmond couldn't answer, all his mental and physical efforts being put into trying to make sure he stayed awake.

"Can you walk?"

It was with some great amount of effort that he lifted his head again to look back at the blond, Clay's question passing almost silently from his lips for how quiet his voice was.

"Can _you?_ "

Clay's lips formed a pained grin at that, the man knowing just as well as Desmond that they both couldn't make their way out of here any time soon. Not without proper help at least. And they were running out of time.

So he extended his hand, gripping Desmond's right hand with his left, the hold awkward and uncomfortable as both men simultaneously tried to will their legs to move, to force their muscles to accept their shifts in weight. They hissed through clenched teeth as they carefully rose a little at a time, and swaying precariously on weak legs they had no choice but to drop their hands and clutch shoulders instead, both taking a moment to groan lowly under their breaths and pant for air with heads bowed against each other's necks.

"Fuck…" Desmond managed to choke out again, wincing as he tried not to topple forwards and take Clay down with him. His left leg felt crushed, like a rock had come barrelling right into it. He gingerly tested the weight of his foot against the ground. He recoiled instantly. _Bruised to all hell…_

He'd have to hop.

"The hell – _shit!_ – the hell even happened in here?"

Clay grit his teeth, seeing how Desmond was uneasily holding his weight. In the light pooling in from the caved in roof above he could just make out the angry red cuts marring his shin through the ripped fabric of his jeans along his left leg.

"We'll… figure that out later…" Clay grunted, slinging his arm carefully around Desmond's shoulders, helping urge him along. Each step threatened to make him pass out – each laboured breath, each slow inch forwards on pained limbs making the corners of his vision haze and grow dark. He shook his head, trying to keep the darkness at bay. He felt an arm wrap around his shoulder in turn, Desmond doing his best to support him much as Clay was to him, and he managed to offer the younger man a faint smile of gratitude.

"Easy…" He urged, his hold tightening around Desmond's shoulder when the man almost slipped over, his foot scuffing against a nearby rock. Desmond managed a weak laugh, groaning again at the painful heave of his chest, and it was all he could do to mumble something unintelligible in Clay's direction as they continued. "The bridge is… _ow_ … the bridge is out… we're gonna… have to pick our way across…"

"Perfect…" Desmond muttered, finally managing to keep his head raised enough to take in the destruction of the temple, the shattered bridge, the rocks that had fallen down and taken half of the bridge with it. He could remember bits and pieces of what had happened before the explosion… something about Juno… something about the sun… end of the world… Abstergo… but he couldn't make sense of it. Not now when they were both barely holding onto their consciousness, both barely able to stand without holding onto each other, let alone take one step at a time.

"We can't… we can't make this…"

Clay smiled grimly, feeling fully inclined in his fatigued and pained state to agree with Desmond's hoarse words as soon as they managed to at last inch within a few feet of the edge of the cracked bridge.

"We're gonna have to try…" And with that, he pulled his hand away from Desmond's shoulder momentarily, cussing under his breath when he swayed and almost fell back, his head dizzy with the waves of vertigo that rushed up to meet him. He waved off Desmond's concerned call, already focusing as much of his waning energy as he possibly could on keeping himself steady on both feet as he stepped onto the first jutting pile of rock that had fallen before the bridge.

Desmond followed, trying to hold his weight as best he could, stepping his good leg first onto the outcrop of rock and then following with his injured leg soon after. Thankfully he didn't fall over, but swaying precariously for a moment until Clay managed to grab hold of him again, he was honestly surprised he didn't. Working as one, Clay took another step, trying to slowly move over to the next rock. Desmond followed suit.

Thankfully, the longer they stayed awake, moving through the pain piercing their limbs with each slow, hazardous step over rubble and sharp debris, picking and pulling themselves forwards and tripping every second step, the longer it was easier for them to keep their minds focused, to keep their eyes ahead despite the setbacks. By the time they'd at last hauled themselves uneasily over onto the temple floor that used to mark the ledge from which the bridge extended outwards to meet the glowing pedestal beyond, they were panting, caked with dirt and blood and their heads pounded with each uneasy step forwards. Unable to move any more without collapsing again, they had no choice but to stop, Clay in particular groaning heavily as he pressed his back against the nearby cracked wall, almost threatening to slide downwards.

He would have if Desmond hadn't shaken his shoulder, muttering lowly for him to keep his eyes open, though it was damn hard for Desmond to take his own advice and do the same.

"Do you think… d'you think that they made it out of here ok?" He didn't need to indicate who 'they' were. It was clear he was talking about Shaun, Rebecca and his father.

Clay gripped his head, panting softly as he slowly roused himself back up, accepting Desmond's help again to pull him into a standing position against the wall. He tried to mull over the man's words through the pounding in his head, and glancing around the sorrowful remains of the temple grounds he chose his next words as carefully as he possibly could.

"I hope so… I don't see anyone…" He let his words trail off, echoing in the silence around them. Desmond smiled grimly, pulling back and already looking like he'd finally regained enough strength over his battered leg to stand without any form of assistance as he did so. Clay followed suit as he dropped his hand slowly from Desmond's shoulder, feeling the tell-tale sway of balance but managing to keep himself steady as best he could. He was grateful they'd taken a moment to rest, because now, preparing to move his feet once more to continue forwards through the maze of rubble-strewn crevices and rock that rose to greet them, he felt the strength slowly yet surely return to him. His mind was working through the haze otherwise clouding his senses, his words no longer hoarse with pain as he spoke. He winced when he felt another sharp jab at his chest with the next step he took, but otherwise he ignored it. He'd endured much worse.

At least he couldn't feel his arm anymore. It should have probably concerned him, but not wanting to dwell on the ugly charred remains of his right hand any longer than was necessary he let it slide.

Thick plumes of ashen dust billowed in the soft breeze that gusted in from the collapsed cave roof, and when the light shifted through the smoke they saw now, as sunlight glinted at the entrance to what used to be the tunnel that led deep into the sanctum halls from the farmland above, that even though the way was half-blocked by debris and the bodies of those agents who had been unlucky enough to escape the earthquake it was still possible to try and attempt to make their way upwards.

Sharing a look at one another, they both knew that a similar thought had entered their heads at that moment: _It's worth a shot._

"Your leg doing ok?" Clay murmured quietly, falling into step beside Desmond, reaching out every so often to place a hand on his shoulder to help steady him whenever the younger man stumbled. Desmond offered him a small nod, the corners of his scarred lips twitching into a dry smile.

"Yeah… for the most part… doesn't… _fuck_ … doesn't hurt as bad as it did… before…" He stopped, taking a deep breath, trying to get the air back in his lungs. It was then he chanced a careful look over at Clay, his eyes narrowing as he saw the clouded look in his blue eyes. He grabbed his arm, moving his hand now to pull around his shoulders again, keeping him steady. Clay blinked, smiling bitterly and allowing his free hand to slip around Desmond's waist, the pair grunting faintly with the effort to try and sidestep a large crack in the ground before them. They would have toppled downwards if they weren't being as careful as they were.

"How about you?"

Clay didn't answer at first, as distracted as he was by the effort involved in inching forwards. But when he realised that Desmond had asked him a question, he paused momentarily.

"… I've been better."

Desmond's dry grin matched Clay's, the pair of them exchanging glances, both grimacing through the pain that shot through their lungs again at the chuckles they forced from their throats. They'd made it halfway through to the exit. And not a moment too soon – the air was already becoming increasingly harder to breathe.

It was the noise they heard that made them stop, bodies tensing feebly as they worked to try and steady themselves against the closest outcrop of rubble, having no choice but to crouch down as well as they could to avoid being spotted. It took them longer than they would have liked, cussing under their breaths at the effort it took on their bleeding, bruised bodies, but gritting their teeth so as to keep quiet they froze – gazing into each other's eyes with wide, horror-struck expressions echoed on their faces.

It was the sound of footsteps, echoing loudly through the remains of the shattered tunnel that broke through the silence. Someone was coming. And by the filtering echo of low voices, it was more than just one person.

"Who the hell is that?!" Desmond hissed under his breath, carefully inching around to peer over the top of the rock they were hiding behind. His first thought – or rather, wild hope – was that it was one of the others, his father or Shaun, or maybe even Rebecca working on pulling rubble away to try and re-enter the temple below so they could come find them. But as soon as that thought crossed his mind he pushed it away, realising that wasn't going to happen.

For one thing, if it _was_ the others, surely they would have made their way down here already to try and pull both himself and Clay out from here. When they woke up they would have already been lying in hospital beds, or safely secured in another hideout depending on where his father was able to procure one for them.

But they hadn't. Desmond remembered telling them to run away from the temple shortly before he'd collapsed… and the more he mulled over these thoughts now… the more a dull ache crept through his chest, aching with more pain than the physical injuries that continued to stab through his body.

He didn't think they were dead… he didn't _want_ to think they were dead… but the possibility couldn't be ruled out.

Just how long had they been unconscious?

He tightened his hold around the rock, Clay raising his head beside him as the two assassins waited with bated breath for the intruders to show themselves. Someone had turned on a flashlight, the bobbing glow dancing across the crumbled walls as the voices – and footsteps – drew nearer.

_"—Christ, look at what happened down here…"_

_"No shit. That earthquake really tore the place up."_

_"What happened to the assassins?"_

_"Dunno. Ran away. Got caught up in the blast. Who cares."_

Desmond turned his head, meeting Clay's eyes again. The look they shared said it all: _Abstergo._ Glancing back over the rock face now, they could see a group of four men, armed in suits emblazoned with that familiar triangular logo. They held no weapons in their grasp, however… and it was clear from the way they talked, the way they glanced around, shining flashlights on stone and whispering in hushed tones to one another that they were merely a search party. They clearly thought the danger had passed.

If they weren't as injured as they were, both Clay and Desmond could have taken them out in an instant, just as they'd done back in Abstergo's Roman facility. But as it was, they were forced to do nothing but lie in wait.

When a fifth man approached from the tunnel, flashlight glancing atop rock and shattered rubble, they were glad they did.

"Where's the Apple?" Though his words were quiet his voice effortlessly rang out around the ruined halls, tone authoritative, concise – clearly the man in charge. He had an accent that was difficult to place… though something about the lilt of his voice, the curl of his words as they passed his lips hinted at a possibility of European. Those agents standing with him stood to attention, shaking their heads as he drew closer to them.

It wasn't his voice nor his words which held the assassins rooted to the spot where they crouched down in the shadows, however. Nor was it the mention of the Apple.

Rather, it was the man himself.

They'd seen him before.

Tall, grey hair. Well-groomed and sporting calming, trusting features. Features someone would be able to trust implicitly, which was a tactical advantage for someone who up until this moment they'd been led to believe had worked solely in the medical field.

"We don't know, Doctor Gramática," one of the men replied, shrugging and glancing back behind him at the destruction.

It was the same doctor who they'd spoken to at the county hospital, back when Clay had woken up inside Mark's body.

And just like that, everything clicked, fell into place. As Desmond slowly turned his head, brown eyes wide and meeting equally wide blue, the looks on their faces confirmed that dark realisation.

It all made perfect sense.

He was there. That doctor had been in charge of the whole thing. He must have known about Clay using Mark's body… he informed Abstergo… ratted them out…

He was the one who gave the orders to patrol the temple grounds. He'd probably been following the assassins since they left that hospital.

It wasn't Cross, it wasn't even Vidic… it was _him_. The whole time.

The whole fucking time and they hadn't even _known_ it.

"That son of a bitch…" Clay's voice was deathly quiet as he looked back over the rock, the pain bleeding through him momentarily ignored as his eyes followed the grey-haired man striding towards the shattered remains of what could have been the animus. It was difficult to tell in this light, but as the glow of a flashlight danced over crushed shards of wires and a familiar red leather seat, yet another unsettling suspicion had been confirmed. Clay couldn't say he was sorry to see that thing go. Neither was Desmond, as he slowly lifted his head to join the blond in taking stock of the scene before him.

_Rebecca won't be too happy…_

A bitter smile danced upon Desmond's lips. Rebecca. Shaun, William… they had to get out of here. He had no clue where they were or if they even _had_ managed to escape before the cave collapsed in on itself, but they needed to leave. They needed to escape.

Of course the only problem was _how_ they were going to make that escape.

The sound of voices drew their attention once more, and they quickly ducked back down behind the cover of the rock face.

"Find it then," the doctor – _Gramática_ that man had said – ordered and turned around, probing the walls with the light of his torch as if in search of something that only he could see, or only he was aware of. The men standing with him jumped to action, scouting forth and looking under rock and debris, evidently in search of the Apple. For their sake, Desmond and Clay hoped they would never find it. In fact they didn't know what had happened to it prior to the blast – but if the Templars were having trouble in tracking it down that was perhaps the only sliver of good news to be had since this entire day started.

Glancing at each other, eyes meeting, the two assassins held their gazes – as if silently communicating the need to think, to talk about this… but also knowing at the same time that any comment made now would alert the others to their presence. A low groan issued from Clay had Desmond start, reaching out to grip his shoulder as if to give him some wordless indication that he was here, he had his back. Clay sucked in a sharp breath, fighting off the all-too familiar stab of pain that rocketed through his chest again, and he weakly offered as much of a smile as he possibly could in Desmond's direction. The sound of footsteps echoed noisily around them, and soon they ground to a halt.

They had begun to whisper. Chancing the risk, Desmond cautiously lifted his head to peer over the rock once more, Clay following slowly alongside him. They were met with the sight of the agents gathered much where they had been before, with only one exception. Gramática was standing in the centre of the four, his hand outstretched to show them something. In his hands he held the shattered remains of something distinctly silver and metallic… the light of the torch held above illuminating the unmistakable runes etched upon its surface, which even now crumbled in the Templar's grip as he crushed the object and watched it fall to the floor with a glass-like shatter.

Desmond felt his mouth go dry, Clay's eyes meanwhile widening.

It was the Apple.

And it was completely, utterly destroyed.

"… Was that…?"

"It was," Gramática intoned, sounding unconcerned as he shook his hand and wiped it upon his jacket. He turned to face the men gathered before him who had frozen still, eyes and mouths gaping wide in both morbid fascination and horror at the remnants of the artefact that had been so carelessly thrown away. Gramática paid them no mind.

"H- _how_?" The agent closest to him whispered hoarsely.

"The earthquake no doubt," Gramática answered, turning around once more and shining his torch upon the ruined archways that once stood by the cave entrance, or what was now left of them. "The blast we saw dealt a devastating force of energy when the Temple exploded. Considering that bridge is of Precursor origin, it's safe to assume that whatever was beyond it reacted negatively with the Apple when the quake started. It's useless now. No matter. There are others."

That terse explanation seemed to console the men gathered with him, and they straightened as the doctor turned once more, as if in preparation to leave. Before he did, however, he paused once more – sparing the ruins around him one final glance.

"What we came for isn't here. The assassins certainly haven't found it either, otherwise we'd have discovered it from their video logs. Expand your search for the Shroud in the other Temples. This is a dead end."

His footsteps faded as he strode towards the tunnel, the glow of the flashlights soon fading to leave the Temple in darkness once again as his men followed. Soon, the sound of their own steps echoed into nothing, and Desmond and Clay could at last release the breaths they had been holding throughout the course of that brief exchange.

Looking at one another now, they let the conversation they had heard wash over them, taking stock of the confusing – but no less concerning – situation they now found themselves inextricably caught up in.

"What 'shroud'?" Desmond echoed, his voice sounding loud in the space between them even as he whispered the words. For a moment Clay was silent. Then he shook his head.

"I… I dunno," he grunted, wincing and closing his eyes as another sharp jolt of pain seared through his chest. Gripping onto his afflicted torso, he offered a weakened smile at Desmond as the man placed a steadying hand on his shoulder again, his brown eyes narrowed as he carefully studied the blond.

"I… vaguely remember Abstergo keeping data on… on something called the Shroud of Eden back when… back when I—" Clay sharply trailed off, hissing under his breath as the attempt he'd just made to sit up ended with another jolt of agony tearing through his body. He swore violently, Desmond continuing to maintain a careful grip on his shoulder as he nodded.

"Take it easy…" He muttered. Clay nodded, sighing and waiting as patiently as he could for his strength to return and the pain to fade. To try and distract himself he continued with what he'd been trying to say, having no choice but to grit his teeth to keep himself focused.

"I… I don't know what it is or… what it does," he groaned, Desmond wrapping his arms firmly around him now and helping to bring the blond to his feet. He would have stumbled and fallen back over if it wasn't for Desmond's careful hands, and as his head threatened to cave in under the weight he felt settle on his brain, his chest, he took a moment to blink and suck in one sharp breath after the other.

"But it's… gotta be important I guess… otherwise…" He winced again, stumbling forwards as Desmond linked his arm around his waist, helping walk him out past the rock face to continue towards the tunnel the Abstergo agents had just left for. "Fuck…" He couldn't think. He squeezed his eyes shut. Desmond's arm tightened around him, though he had trouble keeping upright himself as he did so. He'd momentarily forgotten the injury on his leg, and each step forwards sent another flare of fire surging through his veins, almost threatening to knock him down as he ached with each torturous step forwards that he took. He didn't know how much longer they could last like this – the air had grown thin, much thinner than he could remember. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to think. It was hard to feel anything aside from the injuries they bore inside and out. And their hands remained black as night, charred, burnt to a crisp. He'd lost all sensation in his fingers.

He swooned, words slurring on his tongue as vertigo flooded his brain.

"We gotta… gotta get… get out—"

"Stay with me Desmond," came Clay's strained whisper beside him. He'd tried to tighten his hold around the other man in turn, but the trembling in his fingers proved the task impossible. As it was he could only grasp with the barest of strength left to him in some meagre efforts to keep Desmond upright, keep him awake as he resorted to shaking him as gently as he could. Desmond nodded, panting sharply and dragging his feet with clearly visible effort across the cracked stone ground.

They barely cast the Apple a second glance as they uneasily shuffled past the broken fragments of the artefact, both assassins glad beyond belief to see the end of it. Perhaps when their minds were clear and they'd managed to find the others ( _if_ they found the others – though the moment that niggling thought probed unwelcomely at their minds they forcefully shoved it away), they would sit down, talk about the implications. Talk about why those agents didn't _care_ about its destruction – they'd been searching for it all along, hadn't they?

And then that doctor…

_Gramática._

Just the mere thought of the name was enough to cause a surge of panic coupled with abhorrent anger through Desmond's chest. He wanted to find out more about him. He wanted to know exactly what it was he was after, this 'shroud'. He wanted to find _him_.

And he wanted him to talk.

In his dizzying state, Desmond found his mind overloading with possibilities – possibilities that in that moment of weakness and injury, his brain couldn't differentiate between practical and impractical. As it was he was struggling to remember the man's face. Struggled to remember his voice.

Maybe it would all come back, if they got outside.

_If we get outside…_

He winced; he could see light. Light at the end of the tunnel as they neared the path upwards, littered with debris and crumbled earth. A bitter smile crossed his lips. Maybe they _were_ dead after all, and this was the gateway to heaven. It felt like it. It was too cold. Everything hurt. He couldn't keep his eyes open. He felt Clay's hand slipping from his waist.

A broken groan told him why.

"C-Clay?" He grunted against the pain in his leg, Clay's unsteady weight against him causing Desmond to take a sharp stop in his tracks, momentarily jostling the damaged nerves in his skin as he came to a halt. He looked down, blinking through the blurriness in his eyes only to see the blond almost slipping down towards the ground, eyes closed, brows knotted in an expression of clear discomfort. He'd bitten his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, and all thought of attempting to climb that tunnel, climb and break through into the world above (if there _was_ one), was driven from Desmond's mind.

"Clay!" His cry was sharp, more urgent now as he helped the blond ease carefully back against the nearby crumbled wall, his focus clearer now as he gripped that pale face with both hands and tried to get the man to open his eyes, to look up at him, to say _something_ to let him know he was ok…

"Clay, c'mon don't do this to me—"

A hand shot out, weakly grasping onto Desmond's wrist, then tightened as soon as those shaking fingers found purchase. Desmond exhaled sharply, feeling some small rush of relief through all the anxiety, but even that was soon quelled as Clay forced his eyes open – and he blinked unseeingly up at the man before him.

"F-fuck…" He mumbled, the worlds falling heavily from his lips as he blinked again, eyes slipping in and out of focus as he tried to look at Desmond's face. "Thought I'd… last a bit longer…" Another groan escaped him, and he hissed sharply as he winced. His hand slipped from Desmond's wrist, clawing now at his own chest. Directly over his heart.

Desmond didn't have time to worry about that, to take note of what Clay was doing, where his hand was grasped so tightly… panic now ran through his mind, fuelled him to action – he tried to slip an arm around the man's shoulder to pull him up. He got halfway there before Clay groaned again, shaking his head and slumping back against the wall with barely a sharp exhale of breath uttered.

"Z-zeroes and… and ones…" He was muttering, his voice the quietest Desmond had ever remembered it being; like he wasn't really here, like he was locked inside his own head. He tried shaking his shoulders. He gripped his face again.

"Clay…" He ignored how scared he sounded. "Clay, come on we have to… we have to get out. Stay with me!" He echoed the man's previous words, hoping that it might prove helpful. It didn't. A strangled laugh fell from Clay's lips, and this time when he opened his eyes again… he was looking right at Desmond. His hand fell from his chest and he shakenly lifted it to the man's shoulder.

"I can see… all this code…" He smiled, the twitch of his lips utterly broken. "Probably shouldn't have… pushed this body… so much… it's… it's everywhere—" He was cut off, a painful hitch of breath escaping him. Desmond growled lowly – the growl borne from the pain still carving into his leg as he tried to pull the blond back up. He succeeded thankfully with more ease than he had a moment ago, Clay at last making some effort despite the agony to try to somehow shift his legs, bend them to let him stand… then his words finally rang through Desmond's head, echoing in his brain. He glanced sharply up at him, both hands planted firmly on his shoulders, his waist as he panted for breath.

"What do… what do you mean?"

_Code?_

He saw the look in Clay's eyes, that broken smile that remained plastered drily on his lips. A second later and Desmond understood. His fingers tightened against him, clutching down tightly into Clay's shoulders. He could feel himself shaking.

"No…" The whisper that left his lips was so hoarse, so choked beyond all recognition that for a moment he felt as if someone else had uttered it. Then he spurred into action – the pain all but forgotten as he dragged the man to his feet, muscles fighting the searing heat that blistered through his leg. This wasn't how it was going to end. This wasn't how it was _supposed_ to end.

Eyes on the weak filters of light he could see through the cracks of the ruined halls around them, the tunnel a dusty, debris-ridden path rising in twisting, shattered serpentine passages upwards, he grit his teeth and slung his arms firmly around Clay's back, the blond grunting lightly in evident discomfort once more as his head lolled weakly towards Desmond's shoulder.

"We're gonna get out of here," he panted, already forcing himself to take that one step forwards… then another… and another after that… Clay responding weakly and stumbling into Desmond's side as his fingers twitched around his waist, head lolling further into the crook of his neck as blond locks brushed into his eyes, half-hiding his face in shadow. Desmond cussed sharply, stumbling with the uneven weight against him and grunting to himself as he steadied a hand momentarily against the earthen wall beside him.

"Clay, we're getting out. We're making it to the top and—and then we're going to… to…" To what? He didn't have an answer. He didn't know what they could possibly do once they broke free of this godforsaken place. But dying wasn't on the list. The thought, as adrenalin pumped and overwrote the need to rest, to catch his breath, to fight the growing darkness that crept ever so slowly into the corners of his waning vision, was ridiculous. It was laughable. They'd made a promise, hadn't they? That they would make it through this?

Dying wasn't an option. Not for him, and _especially_ not for Clay.

"I didn't risk… my fucking back… _saving you from that fucking island…"_ His words drowned under the collective hisses and gasps that spilled freely from his lips with each step, but even if Clay was bordering dangerously on unconsciousness against him he knew that he needn't finish off that sentence. The weak hand raising to grip his shoulder – barely able to grip down, but it was still _there_ – told Desmond that.

Clay was still with him. He only hoped that he would stay that way.

He pulled Clay forwards again, carrying most of the blond's weight as he shuffled forwards slowly once more, inch by agonising inch towards the light, towards what he hoped was a surface that showed them the Earth still intact. And if it wasn't… well, regardless it would still be a place that was anywhere but here.

The dust from the cave-in billowed around them like sheets which blanketed them in a thick, vast fog. Coughing as he felt himself suck in said dust as they stumbled forwards another step, then another, then another after that, Desmond felt a dizzying pull tug at his head. Like he was on the verge of consciousness himself, wanting nothing more than to lie down, rest, never get up again… he grit his teeth, bit his lip, stamped his injured leg against the ground and used the pain to keep himself upright, keep himself focused as he pulled Clay with him further up the winding passage, guided by the feeble glimmers of light that he could see above. A quick glance down as soon as they'd gotten halfway there – a feat which took them near twenty minutes – showed Desmond that Clay's head had lolled back towards his neck again, the feeble rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he was still breathing. Desmond was on his own.

He felt a spike of fear surge through his chest, and guided by that fear and that fear alone, he didn't stop until he broke through to the surface.

He'd shielded their faces with his hands, groaning as the cloud of dust that stirred upon slipping down to the ground hit his eyes and threatened to blind him. But the moment it levelled out to reveal a harsh flood of light, Desmond found he dropped his hand in favour of squinting through the glare, trying to make sense of what he saw before him.

The clearing looked the same as it always had. The sun even more so. He didn't know what time it was, but judging by the rise from the horizon he guessed it to be a few hours after dawn. He gulped and choked on the dust, groaning as his legs twitched under him, causing him to stumble. He didn't have time to think about the sky. Didn't have time to think about the sun. Didn't have time to think about the Templars or _anything_ except Clay and the need to get him somewhere, get him to a hospital maybe—

He wandered blindly and only paused to stop in the centre of the clearing, the trees around him looking a thankful shield from the golden glow above. Desmond knew that just getting him to a hospital wouldn't be enough. No one was around. They were alone. He couldn't see any sign of Rebecca, of Shaun… of his father.

They were alone. He was alone.

All alone.

He felt damp tracks on his cheeks and it took him all of thirty seconds to realise he'd been crying. His hold tightened around Clay as he sunk to the ground.

The last thing he saw as vertigo swept up to consume him and pull him downwards was those sharp blue eyes focused weakly on him, Clay's fingers twitching feebly towards Desmond's chest. Over the breeze that howled through the clearing overhead, Desmond – for one brief, maddening moment – thought he could hear a voice on the wind. Calling out.

_"Help... him... get… him in… the —"_

He saw Clay's lips move, heard the blond's hoarse plea. Didn't know who he was speaking to. His vision was blurring.

It didn't seem to matter, though.

He heard no more as he slumped down and spiralled once again into the black depths of unconsciousness.


	24. Chapter 24

" _Yes… come."_

He heard the whispers; felt the lulling call of her voice wash over him, bleed into his senses, drift across his brain and nestle permanently into the back of his head.

" _You know our story now. Of how we tried… of how we failed. All our hopes extinguished. Save one…"_

A mumbled groan escaped him – hands clawing at his sides. He couldn't open his eyes. He felt hot – too hot.

" _Your touch. A spark. A spark to save the world—"_

" _Wait! Do_ not _touch the pedestal!"_

He frowned, tried to take it in. Tried to remember the name of the one who spoke, tried to work his tongue around the foreign word that slipped from his grasp. Was it Minerva?

_Minerva…_

" _Better the world burn than_ she _be loosed upon it!"_

" _The earthquake really tore the place up."_

" _What happened to the assassins?"_

These voices were unfamiliar; masculine. Their faces were blurred – dipping in and out of sight before he could have a chance to focus on them. He saw lights – brilliant, bright white lights flashing behind his eyes, dancing across his retinas. He tried to push them away. Felt something touch his arm.

" _Desmond? Can you hear me?"_

" _What we came for isn't here. This is a dead end."_

He felt a surge of hatred, of anger. Distress. The doctor… he couldn't remember his face, but he could remember the voice. He was going to find him. He was going to make him talk, he was—

"— _Vitals are picking up. He's coming round—"_

" _Clay, c'mon don't do this to me…"_ It sounded like him. Hazy visions flickered over his eyes. He felt sick. Felt his head roll. Tried to reach out – couldn't move his hand. _Clay… where was Clay?!_ Where were the others? He felt his stomach lurch. Felt like he was going to be sick. It was too hot in here. He couldn't move.

He was trapped.

" _Z-zeroes and… and ones…"_

" _Desmond, you have to calm down!"_ The voice sounded so familiar. Sounded like a memory. Someone he knew from a lifetime ago. He tried to work his tongue over his mouth, tried to moisten his lips to speak. He couldn't. He was trapped.

" _It's ok Desmond, we're here… can you hear us? It's me, Rebecca. You'll be ok."_

Too many voices…

" _I didn't die just for you to throw your life away so carelessly, Desmond!"_

He choked on the tears, on the fatigue, on the sorrow, the hopelessness… he felt his throat constrict, tighten and collapse in on itself. He felt the heat of the Eye, felt the temple collapsing around them. He needed to stop this, needed to get out, needed to see everyone _safe_ … he was trapped.

" _I'M SAVING YOU, IDIOT!"_

Pain coursed through his arm, blistered through layers of skin, muscle, blood. The prick of the needle burnt like nothing had ever burnt him before. He couldn't feel his hand. He couldn't feel his limbs. He felt himself grow heavy.

The voices faded into the background; lazy, slow. Morphed into something alien. Something unintelligible. Something grabbed his free hand, something warm. It clasped his fingers, slid neatly in. Held onto him. Another hand.

" _If you don't wake up Miles, I swear to god I'll punch you in the face."_

Just before he felt himself slip back, he could have sworn his lips cracked apart, pulled sluggishly upwards – a sickened attempt at something so easy as a smile, now made hard and seemingly impossible under the blur of drugs, the heavy hand of medication that grasped at his chest and held him down, kept him under.

Perhaps it was because of those drugs that when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in any place he recognised.

The white was what gave it away at first, alerted him to the startling realisation that he was no longer in that clearing outside the collapsed temple grounds. He wasn't buried face down in the dirt – he wasn't covered in dust and debris and the heavy body of someone who he'd thought had been on the verge of death. The warmth that covered his tired body, caressed his bruised and battered limbs was the warmth of something soft, like a blanket. The pain in his arms was not the pain that had debilitated him completely when he'd touched that Eye – it was the pain of IV cords connected to clear bags of fluids standing on poles alongside him.

His head was resting against the softness of a pillow, not the jutting cluster of broken twigs and dry grass.

The steady beeping that filtered in and out in gentle, rhythmic bursts by his ears was that of a monitor, recording each beat, each pump of his heart in his chest.

He breathed in. Breathed out. Felt the dizziness lift.

He was alive.

"About time."

This time when he smiled, he didn't have to force it through the sluggish pull of anaesthetics. He lowered his gaze from the hospital room's ceiling, trailed his tired eyes down the walls littered and lined with diagrams of human anatomy and emergency helplines… until he landed his gaze on a familiar face, his blond hair tousled as if the man had been unable to stop himself from tirelessly running his hands through the wavy mass of locks by his brow.

Clay's smile was small, his light blue eyes dark around the edges – his gaze almost heavy-lidded as he sighed and leant back in his seat, calmly waiting for Desmond to focus, to gather his thoughts, to get used to his surroundings. He looked like he hadn't slept in days.

With a dull stab of guilt, Desmond knew that was exactly what had happened.

"Hey."

Desmond shifted, wincing against the dull ache in his body – thankfully a mere annoyance easily ignored now rather than the stabbing burn of pain that had racketed through him before he'd collapsed – and he tried to work his tongue around his mouth, tried to moisten his lips enough to croak out some kind of response to Clay's words.

"You look like hell." He would have winced again at how dry his voice sounded, how barely intelligible his words were as he whispered them, but he was too lightheaded to take proper note. Clay's lips twitched into a dry smile, his mouth pursed into a thin line.

"Says the guy who's currently bedridden in a city hospital."

Desmond offered no smile, no attempts at half-hearted comebacks to that bitter quip. Instead he took in his surroundings once more, seeing Clay to be right. The monitors beside him continued to beep in low, rhythmic movements, and outside through the windows which were draped over with curtains drawn to in front of them, he thought he could hear the tell-tale buzz and hum of traffic down below.

He knew that something should have been wrong with this picture, but he was too tired, too fatigued under the pulse of anaesthetics still combating his bloodstream that he merely glanced over that thought and instead favoured it for another.

"Where're are the others?"

Clay stood from his seat, and it was then that Desmond found he could take in the blond – saw the dark lines and bags under his eyes, his pale face looking sallow and almost gaunt under the white lights above. His skin was littered with bruises, looking no more than a few days or weeks old at most. But other than that he was walking without difficulty, his gait strong as he moved towards the bedside table and passed Desmond a glass of cold water.

He took it without question, muttering a brief word of thanks to the man as he reached up with his right hand and took a slow, careful sip. It was like ice that poured down his throat as he drank, and he had never been so thankful for something as cold and as clear as that. His throat grew less parched as he took one more sip, and then another, and ever so slowly he felt the claws of the drugs in his system receding to steadily bolster his thoughts and sharpen his mind, clearing his head from the clutches of sleep.

Clay didn't respond until he'd taken the glass back, nestling it back in its place upon the table before reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as he worded a careful reply.

"They were in here not that long ago… the nurse told 'em it would be easier if there was only one of us in here when you woke up. Your dad's having a word with the doctor. Shaun's waiting in the visitor lounge with Rebecca." He paused, sweeping his eyes over Desmond's face, as if imprinting his features to memory. The ever so slight furrowing of his brows made Desmond conclude that he still looked as shit as he felt. "How much do you remember? About what happened when we got out of that cave?"

Desmond found himself thankful for the steady pump of drugs in his system – otherwise he probably would have found himself in a world of pain. The worst kind – the pain that lay deep in his head, ready to strike at any given notice when he thought back to what had happened at that temple…

He swallowed, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth. Then he closed his eyes, trying to think. The steady beeping of the monitors was a steady presence, an almost comforting sound to his right.

"Well we got out," he began slowly, sounding vacant, far away. "Abstergo was there... tried to find the others… just before I… passed out I guess, I saw something… heard someone call out…"

He opened his eyes then, watching Clay as the blond nodded and breathed a slow sigh of relief. The smile he offered was pained, though the look in his eyes was not unkind.

"No memory loss, good. The docs were worrying about that," he chuckled somewhat weakly. "They were there, Des. Rebecca, Shaun, Bill… turns out we'd only been in there for a couple of hours at most. The cave entrance collapsed in on itself so they couldn't get us out right away… had to try and find another way to get to us. The Templars solved that, though. They detonated a mine… blew the rubble away… they were left to lie in wait while they waited for that doctor and his crew to leave."

Desmond nodded, allowing a soft sigh to escape him at the reassuring knowledge that they'd been there all along. In fact the more he thought about it now, he realised what the panic had done to him – it had smothered his logical thought pattern, made him overthink, overreact. There was no way in hell he and Clay would have been left alone like that. No way in hell the others would have been killed by Abstergo.

And now they were waiting outside for him to get better. He could have smiled.

He almost did, and regretted it immediately when the tug of muscles in his cheeks responded with a sharp pain that shot down his neck from lack of use.

Another lapse of conversation passed, the silence thick but not uncomfortable. Desmond glanced towards the door, gradually focusing his attention on moving a finger, tightening a muscle in his thigh… checking to ensure that he could indeed move from where he lay. He could. He felt relief wash anew over his prone form.

_No lasting damage. Thank god for that._

"I thought you were dying, you know."

He didn't look at Clay, but he could tell the blond was looking at him.

He heard a shift in movement; steps slowing by the bedside. Clay sighed again. He sat down.

"Almost did for a minute." Desmond turned, finally, to look back at him again, the grave sincerity of Clay's voice causing another uneasy attempt to swallow the lump quickly forming in his throat. Clay was looking down at his hands, his head bowed to hide his face from Desmond's unblinking stare. "I pushed myself too much… the… the Eye… kind of fried me from the inside out. Cardiac arrest." His smile was bitter as he finally met Desmond's eyes. "I only got out of my room early this morning. Just be thankful you didn't have to undergo surgery to kick-start your heart again."

Desmond continued to watch him, calmly staring into those sharp blue eyes.

"How did you know it was going to work?" He didn't have to elaborate. He knew Clay understood exactly what he was asking. _How did you know that you would save me by touching the pedestal at the same time?_

Clay allowed a forced smile to pull at his lips.

"I didn't."

Desmond blinked.

He could hear the sounds of footsteps echoing throughout the corridors beyond; voices of doctors, nurses, patients alike filtering through the hospital's walls as he waited for Clay to explain himself. He could see each act of deliberation on the blond's part: the tightening of his jaw, the twitch of his hands as he clasped them in front of him atop the bed. The way he darted his eyes across Desmond's face, taking in the younger man with each second passing by being another second placed into trying to figure out the easiest way to tell him.

In the end, as Desmond knew he would, he just came right out with it.

"Call it a leap of faith," the blond chuckled tiredly. "I'll be honest with you – I was freaking out back there. We all were. Your best friend decides to finally offer himself up as the world's biggest sacrifice after swearing that he'll try to make it through this in the first place and it's no wonder it makes a guy wanna do the impossible to see if it'll get his head out his ass and save him. Juno was latched onto you… she was… well… obsessed is probably the best way to put it. Something was… _off_ , though…"

"What gave that away?" Desmond was unable to stop himself. His attempt at dry humour was rewarded with a bitter scoff followed by Clay looking very much like he wanted to punch him in the shoulder. Thankfully he stayed his hand.

"You noticed how she fixated on you? Your DNA in particular?"

Desmond paused, nodding slowly once the haze settled in his brain enough to allow him to think.

"Only you could activate that pedestal, apparently… I thought it was bullshit. Considering our lineage I'd reckoned that if you could do it, so could I. Didn't know what was going to happen when I laid my hand down but figured that if it ended up with both of us dying in there at least _something_ would have happened to stop the sun from burning everyone else alive. Bit of a gamble, but… I'm not known for making the most logical of decisions when death is staring me right in the face."

He trailed off, his eyes darkening with thought. Desmond remained silent, his eyes continuing to hold Clay in view as he lay there, drank his words in, needing to hear his story, try to piece together the last of the puzzle… the drugs were fading now, the effects of the anaesthesia (though it was morphine probably, the more he thought about it) slowly lessening their hold on his body, his mind. He could feel his thoughts sharpening, his heart pumping with increased vigour and strength inside his chest.

Clay glanced thoughtfully at the heart monitor, his eyes following the rise and fall of the lines beeping on screen.

"I don't know _exactly_ what happened, but… Juno didn't like it. I think… I think our combined DNA must have overloaded that Eye somehow… enough to charge it but not enough to actually make it _work_."

"Enough to set off a magical flash of light to push the sun away without draining my soul while doing so?" Desmond supplied, the corner of his scarred lip twitching upwards in a show of amusement. Clay nodded, managing a lopsided grin himself as he leant back in his chair.

"She was after _you_ , after all. Didn't plan on me adding myself to the mix. I bet I didn't agree with her somehow… something in my DNA locked her out… didn't add up to yours… pity about that." His grin sharpened into a smirk, and the roguish smile that Desmond found himself met with as he looked at the blond was enough to cause a laugh to erupt from his throat in response.

He'd regretted it almost immediately when he'd begun coughing again, but in the grand scheme of things he thought it was worth it.

So he exhaled slowly, let his eyes flutter closed as he leant his head back against the pillow. He felt a sharp twitch in his left hand. He curled his fingers tightly in on themselves, feeling his palm crack in response.

"Wasn't planning on getting another tattoo just yet," he mumbled. Opening his eyes again, he let his gaze trail over the charred black skin adorning his left hand, a painful reminder of that Eye – what it was capable of. The pure destructive energy that thing had contained. Clay moved his right arm, and Desmond watched as the blond inspected his own palm, marred in much the same way as Desmond's. He shrugged, letting his hand drop by his side as he looked back at the younger man.

"I've been wondering whether I should get one or not," he answered, as cheerfully as he possibly could in that moment. "Guess I found the right time."

This time when eyes met, it was to result in laughter that – no matter how painful – they didn't bother to restrain. Their chests ached, their throats burned in violent retaliation but still they ignored it. Ignored it for the relief, the disbelief that they had _made it_ , they were _alive._

"Speaking of time…"

Clay trailed off in his low chuckles, clearing his throat and redirecting his attention back to Desmond who had in that moment nodded his head towards the window. He could hear the continued sounds of car horns and city life from the opened glass behind the curtains. He was almost hesitant in his words now, unsure as to whether or not he should ask this question… almost as if fearing that he wouldn't want to know the answer. Could be the drugs talking. But regardless… Desmond had to know.

He took a deep breath.

"How long?"

He didn't need to elaborate. He didn't need to state his question in full. Clay knew. Clay always knew.

This time when the older man smiled, despite the weary appearance of his face, despite the obvious pain he was still in, the weakness of his voice, the evident signs of trauma marring his pale skin… his smile was the most genuine Desmond had ever recalled it being. His lips split into a wide grin.

"Since we saved the world? Two weeks. It's January eighth, twenty-thirteen."

* * *

He'd been told to stay in the hospital for another week. His father hovered around him, Desmond feeling like he wasn't being given enough space to think – let alone breathe. But William was adamant, and if he was in any other state of mind right now, Desmond would have tried to shy away from this sudden display of affection and worry from his father.

But seeing as the world hadn't come to a close yet, and seeing as both he and Clay had somehow managed to have successfully _saved_ the planet (at least for a little while longer – who knew what other tragedy Juno was planning to unfold, provided that she was still trapped in that temple, as was most likely?), he let it slide. Hell, he even welcomed William with a wide grin and a gentle hug as soon as he was helped upwards into a sitting position on his bed.

He never thought he'd say this to himself, but Desmond was well and truly glad to see him. The way his chest tightened, the way he choked on his words and fell against his father's chest with arms wrapped tight around him like a vice told him that.

Then came Rebecca and Shaun, and for the next three days Desmond tried to wrangle out of them any tiny sliver of information he could manage to get his head wrapped around: _what happened out there? Are you all ok? You took us to the hospital, didn't you? You sure you're safe?_

They'd told him exactly what Clay had told him, and Desmond slumped weakly back against his pillows with a weak sigh of relief flooding from his chest like a tidal wave against the shore. Through this all, Clay thankfully refused to leave his side, the blond even managing to get himself into a rather heated argument with the doctor when he'd been asked to head back to his room to hasten his recovery. In the end Clay had won out, and, seeing as how he was near fully healed (the only evidence remaining to say that he had survived the ordeal at the temple grounds at all being the ugly burnt skin upon his right hand), he was permitted to stay in Desmond's room as long as he wished to keep him company.

"How much longer do I have to be here?"

Heads raised to look at Desmond, who had been gazing solemnly out the nearby window on the fifth day of his waking in the hospital, watching rain patter against the glass and leaving transparent streaks in its wake. It was nearing four in the afternoon. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the knowledge that the world had survived a near-apocalypse.

Even the scientists and government divisions the world over were still trying to come to terms with what had happened that night those few weeks ago. The most he was able to glean from the TV and the radio was that it was "climate change", "global warming", and a rare once-off "fault in the ozone layer". He'd snorted aloud at that, and Clay hadn't even bothered to grace the reports with more than a look of complete and utter exasperation himself.

"Because you're recovering, Desmond. Give it time."

Desmond turned his head, fixing his father a stare as he looked at the man seated in the corner on the nearby pull-out chair. He was buried in the newspaper, eyes flicking back and forth over the daily tabloids. The front of the paper had the bold title _'WHAT REALLY HAPPENED ON DECEMBER 21_ _ST_ _? SCIENTISTS REMAIN BAFFLED.'_

It drew a faint snort from him.

_You're not the only ones._

William was watching him over the top of the newspaper. Desmond rolled his eyes.

"Clay had a heart attack. I had a bruised leg. What gives?"

Clay looked up as he entered the room, hearing himself starring as the topic of conversation and arching a brow at the man still bedridden in front of him. He'd managed to pilfer some chips from the vending machine outside in the corridor. He tossed two packets to Rebecca and Shaun, and Desmond grinned as he lifted his hand and expertly caught the third packet that Clay volleyed to him from the doorway.

"Because as it turns out I just have a really good recovery rate," Clay answered, sighing in satisfaction as he slumped down in the chair next to the bed. He snagged some chips from Desmond's hand, the younger man sighing as he watched the beloved golden crusted potato leave him for another. _I thought what we had was special?_

He decided to quickly shovel down the rest of his chips before Clay decided to dip his hand down again.

"You know I'd be more inclined to believe you if what you said wasn't complete and utter bullshit," Desmond groused at him, chewing away and swallowing quickly before grabbing himself the fresh cup of water that was left on the bedside table.

"The pair of you have both been in surgery for the same amount of time. You're both scheduled to _recover_ in the same amount of time. You're still here because the doctors need to finish gathering the results of your blood tests. You both suffered severe internal trauma… and we don't know what can be done about your hands."

The room went quiet as William interrupted, and Desmond froze mid-sip as he fixed his eyes on his father. William seemed not to notice, instead turning the page of his newspaper and continuing to read.

It was then that Desmond looked down at his left palm. He closed his eyes, curling his hand into a tight fist. He heard his knuckles crack. He didn't feel it.

"Right…" He muttered.

"They're thinking permanent nerve damage," Shaun piped up from the corner, looking for all intents and purposes amused. Rebecca turned on him.

" _Shaun!"_

"What? They deserve to know what happened to them! It's _their_ bodies after all!" Shaun stared right back at her, clearly intending to further his sentence but stopping before he could continue. He sighed, reaching up and rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "Just… the next time you two decide to go and do something heroic like that, think it through first, yeah? If we have to keep putting you in hospital in-between moving from safe houses we might as well just leave you here permanently."

Clay looked at him, his blue eyes narrowing.

"Heroic?" He scoffed. "We're not heroes."

"The world would disagree."

Desmond watched the proceeding argument with little interest, as his attention was focused elsewhere. Throughout everything over the past week, all the conversations, all the interactions between himself and the others, one thing continued to poke out and rear its ugly head at him.

No one had said anything about the Templars. The doctor that had been working for them the whole time. His search for this so-called 'Shroud'.

Not one thing.

He looked at Clay, studying the man's pale face, which had thankfully taken on more colour the longer he remained in the hospital recovering from his injuries. He saw the briefest flicker of blue eyes down towards him, and in that subtle arch of his brows and incline of his head Desmond knew that Clay had somehow guessed his concern. He cleared his throat then, cutting Shaun off and seeming to want to say something to everyone else in the room (perhaps to tell them to go away, as Desmond found himself hoping in that moment), but he was saved the trouble by the sound of a phone ringing in the brief silence.

William cleared his throat, rising from his chair and bringing his phone to his ear, stalking out of the room with purpose; this had evidently been a call he had been expecting. The others too, if Shaun and Rebecca's expressions were anything to go by. Desmond was just about to open his mouth to ask what was going on when Rebecca looked at him and squeezed his shoulder gently.

"We've been in touch with the other teams while you and Clay were in surgery," she explained softly. "Trying to see if there's a place we can camp out in until we know what's happening. Just take it easy, Desmond. We'll be back in a sec. Hopefully with some good news." She smiled then, and Desmond returned that smile easily as he watched her leave.

Now it was just him and Clay. He turned on the blond instantly.

"You haven't told them about that doctor yet, have you?" He asked. "Gramática, or whatever his name was again?"

Clay shook his head, sitting back down and letting his arms fold out on the side of the bed that Desmond currently wasn't occupying.

"Nah… those types of things are better left for when we have more privacy."

Desmond nodded, studying his friend again as Clay trailed his eyes thoughtfully over his right hand, studying the darkened skin that now donned his palm.

"Can't say I blame you. I hate hospitals too," Desmond continued after a moment. Clay's lips twitched upwards into a light grin.

"No one ever suspects the doctors," he agreed.

They turned to look at the door when William's voice rose in what was unmistakeable relief. They arched their brows, faces looking equal parts amused and curious as the two men then turned to look back at one another. Desmond found his hand moving down to idly dip at the junction of one of Clay's wrists. Clay took his hand without question.

"Dad mentioned something about New York the other day," Desmond continued as he mulled over the offhand comment William had made to him two days ago, his voice low as he looked at the sprawling black lines and burns snaking their ugly pattern along Clay's fingers. "Never thought he'd actually manage to get a place there. He hates the city."

"Well you _did_ say you were gonna go back to New York after everything in the temple went down," Clay reminded him, watching Desmond watch their hands as they clasped idly together. "Correct me if I'm wrong Miles, but I think Bill over there actually goddamn cares about you and what you want. Sometimes, anyway."

Desmond scoffed at that.

"I'm dead, aren't I? I'm actually dead and this really _is_ the end of the world."

Clay shrugged.

"Hey. Could be worse. My dad probably cheered over my grave, if he even bothered to get me one."

"Ouch."

"Good old dad," Clay sighed.

He'd stopped, then. They sat there, eyes trained on one another as William's exultant sighs of relief echoed once more around the halls outside. Rebecca and Shaun had apparently joined in too, if the low chatter starting up soon after was anything to go by.

"Sounds like good news…"

Clay hummed at Desmond's quiet observation, though his brows remained knotted tightly together in consideration. He let out a breath he'd seemingly been holding.

"Let's see how long it lasts."

Shadows flickered by the doorway. It would appear the others were preparing to head back inside. Desmond acted quickly then, more so out of a genuine need than as a half-hearted attempt to try to lighten the situation. He pulled his hand free from Clay's, instead draping it behind his neck so as to tug him down.

He met Clay's lips and sealed him with a brief, reassuring kiss, one that had Clay grunt in surprise the moment Desmond pulled back again. He blinked quickly, but just as easily smoothed over his shocked expression for one of an impenetrable calm that gave away nothing as soon as the others re-entered the hospital room. Desmond's hand clutched Clay's again by the side of his hip. Clay dipped his head for a moment to hide his smile.

"Good news," William announced, and both Clay and Desmond lifted their heads now to fix him with an expectant gaze. If he saw the look fired between the two at that he chose not to comment. "I've landed us another safe house. Apartment block directly in the city. Long-term lease. After everything that's… that's happened I think it'll be the safest we'll ever be until they choose to start something else up again." He didn't say who 'they' were. Everyone knew.

Clay looked momentarily impressed, though the air with which he sighed slowly at that indicated that he was in part still largely sceptical.

"Who'd you have to kill to get that sorted out?" He muttered under his breath. Desmond snorted into the side of his shoulder, having buried his head against his arm to muffle the sound as best he could. William glanced at Clay. There was an odd look in his eyes – a faltering moment of uncertainty as he spent a minute trying to think how best he should answer.

When he finally did, it was clear why he had taken so long.

"Harold is getting it set up for us."

Desmond shifted where he sat. His eyes widened. He glanced first from his father then to Clay.

Clay, much to his credit, remained perfectly still.

Silent.

He didn't even react until William made to turn his back. But through it all – through the mask of indifference that he was so carefully trying to keep in place as he parted his lips and whispered in utter disbelief, Desmond could see just how hardly those words had hit home.

"… _Dad?"_

William offered a single, curt nod and reached out, clasping Clay's shoulder before pulling back and striding once more over to the chair that he had previously been occupying.

From the corner both Shaun and Rebecca could be seen cautiously inching their way further inside. They'd been hanging back by the door, no doubt wondering if things would go downhill from here. For the minute it didn't seem like it would, but Desmond was still grateful that they had the foresight to approach carefully.

Even he didn't know how Clay would take this news, though the ache in his chest at the rocky relationship that Clay had with Harold Kaczmarek (which even surpassed Desmond's uneasy relationship with his own father in most regards) was an ache that he sorely wished he would never have to experience again.

As it was Clay continued to remain silent. He dipped his head down, as if suddenly finding the mattress on the hospital bed the most interesting thing in the world. He slipped his fingers through the stray threads that hung off the corner of the blanket.

Then he took a deep breath and fixed a smile on his lips; fake, forced. Unfeeling.

"Right…" He nodded. "Ok then."

William was observing him carefully over the top of his newspaper, much like he had with Desmond not even half an hour ago.

"We'll be leaving tomorrow morning."

A singular nod was all the response Clay deigned to give.

* * *

Glad to be rid of the stale, sterile air of the hospital, Desmond drank in the air like a man starved, parched beyond all mortal recognition upon opening the sliding door to gaze out at the thrum of city life below, high up on this balcony that their temporary apartment block overlooked.

The sky was a cluster of thick, voluminous clouds – the sun repressed and blanketed by seas of rolling grey. Any tell-tale sign of the threat that had come so close to destroying the entire planet mere weeks earlier appeared to have been just a figment of the imagination; from up here, Desmond saw people walking to and fro along the sidewalk. Children playing in the park. Cars driving along the busy roads, their impatient horns a cacophony of obnoxious sound. He felt the wind at his back, a gentle gust of breeze that barely buffeted his jacket, let alone his hair.

His hands gripped tightly at the railing, and for a moment – just a moment – he fought the urge to be sick.

He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, felt the fear subside, and opened his eyes slowly once again.

They'd come so close to almost losing everything… the fact that the world was still _here_ …

He didn't think he'd ever fully get over it. He knew, right then, right there, that he would always wake up in the morning expecting Juno to be leering over him, telling him to touch that pedestal all over again. Shaun had jokingly suggested that Desmond might be suffering some kind of PTSD when he'd noticed Desmond glancing uneasily around him the moment they'd all left the hospital that morning, and Desmond wondered if he wasn't half right with that analysis.

He heard movement behind him – the sound of someone lugging something around the sitting room and he pulled away from the balcony to help.

The apartment block was both well-stocked and well-furnished; a pristine hub of modernity with stainless steel kitchen appliances, plush leather couches, feature walls and expensive looking carpets. Considering they'd spent the past two months inside a ruined cave it seemed like a bloody palace. Clay had cast a dubious look around him the moment they'd entered earlier on, and Desmond had only just caught him saying a mumbled "yep… this is dad all over" before he was called away by William to help Rebecca with setting up the computers and radios in the sitting room.

They hadn't said a word to each other all morning, only casting furtive glances, half-hearted reassuring smiles at one another when William had driven them down to the city. Desmond wasn't going to press him to talk – if Clay wanted to, he would do so in his own time. That was fair enough.

As it was they had finished with the electronics and Desmond found himself aiding Shaun with his laptops, William meanwhile making a note to order coffee and snacks from the café down the end of the street. Sparing a quick glance down the corridor after William's retreating form (he'd gone to grab his wallet), Desmond found himself distracted once again by this living space Clay's father had secured for them.

Four bedrooms, two bathrooms. Living room. Kitchen. Balcony. Laundry in an enclosed utility room at the very end of the corridor. It had everything. Probably cost an entire year's wage to rent every month. There were many opinions Desmond had formed of Harold over the time he'd known Clay, but 'rich' wasn't one of them. But then again, seeing as he was the CEO of his own engineering company, it shouldn't have come as such a surprise.

A rather lucrative contact for the assassins, too. He still wondered about that, and he knew that Clay did, too. Harold hadn't known anything about Clay becoming an assassin, nor where he'd been taken when he'd allowed himself to be captured by Abstergo. Clay himself had told Desmond that.

So what changed?

He wondered if they'd ever find out.

His father walked past him. Desmond only blinked when a hand had come out to squeeze his shoulder, then his father was off – closing the door quietly behind him as he left. They'd spoken about what they'd seen in the temple, when William was driving everyone away from the hospital, the five of them safe and sound and in an enclosed space where no one was fit to eavesdrop on them as the van trundled down the motorways.

" _The doctor all the time, huh?"_ William had mused, idly scratching at his three day old stubble whilst keeping one hand firmly on the wheel. Rebecca and Shaun had shared a dark look. _"Good. I'm glad he made himself known. We'll keep our feelers out for him – track him down. See what he's up to."_ He'd asked Shaun to get in touch with the other teams as soon as they'd set up in the apartments. Shaun had said he would.

" _Anyone know anything about that shroud?"_ Shaun had then asked, and his eyes had pointedly glanced over at Clay as he did so. Clay chose to ignore him. He'd already told Shaun he didn't know about anything other than the Apple, back when they'd had a similar conversation in the temple that day.

" _No, which is why we're going to track that down too,"_ William had then continued.

" _One disaster ends and another begins,"_ Rebecca had then sighed. _"Must be Christmas for them right about now."_

" _You have no idea,"_ Clay had then muttered under his breath. Rebecca nodded in sullen agreement.

"Just chuck those cords onto the couch there, mate," Shaun spoke up, pulling Desmond from his thoughts and dragging him back to the present. He glanced down, saw the cords that Shaun had indicated with his free hand, and he threw them onto one of the nearby pillows. He then lifted his arms above his head, yawning sharply and feeling his eyes slide heavily closed like they were made of lead. Despite the time it took for him to recover in that hospital, it did nothing to detract away from the fact that he was tired as all fucking hell.

He only hoped that the coffee William had gone to collect was as strong as the café boasted.

More movement from the corridor drew his attention then, and he looked up as Clay approached with Rebecca in tow.

"Communication lines are all set up," Rebecca announced to the room. "Bill gone to get the coffee?"

Shaun nodded.

Clay shoved the cords off the pillow and slumped down on the couch with a sigh.

"You alright?" Desmond asked quietly as Shaun and Rebecca walked over to the last of the boxes in the corner. Clay nodded, albeit stiffly.

"He said he'd been keeping an apartment on the side for renting out," he spoke up quietly, and Desmond knew that he was talking about his father. Clay looked around the sitting room. "Didn't think he'd be keeping it for us."

"You and me both," Desmond agreed, sitting down next to him. Clay smiled thinly.

"You realise he'll be coming here, right? Probably wanna finally meet us all." He shuddered. Desmond looked in front of him, settling his gaze on the TV. Flat screen. Ultra HD graphics. Something he'd once seen in a store catalogue valued at a good hefty couple of thousand grand.

"I dunno what's worse. The fact that he won't recognise me… or the fact that he won't _want_ to."

That brought Desmond out of his thoughts again and he whipped his head back around to face the blond beside him.

"Clay…"

Clay waved him off. Just settled for shrugging his shoulders.

"It's not important."

Desmond gave him a look that perfectly illustrated exactly how he felt about that but Clay ignored him. Another silence passed. Desmond considered turning the TV on – hell, when was the last time he'd watched something on TV?

The sound of voices echoed in the corridor behind him; Shaun was on the phone. Probably already speaking to some of the other teams. Thinking about it now, Desmond realised he didn't exactly _know_ anything about these supposed other assassin groups lying in wait out there… and the more he thought about it, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself to his head, the more he felt like their assistance in the temple would have been rather appreciated indeed. But the sooner that thought had come the quicker he pushed it away. Wishful thinking, he reminded himself. The more assassins there were, the more at risk they were from Abstergo's roaming eyes.

No, Juno had been after _him_ and _him_ alone. With begrudging admission he conceded the fact that if they _did_ have one of the other teams along there helping them, it wouldn't have changed anything.

And besides. They were stretched thin enough as it was. The reason that he hardly knew about them at all was because they hardly even existed – even Lucy had said the same thing, back in Rome. They'd lost another eight assassins that night, soon after Desmond had been rescued from Abstergo. He'd even hacked into the group's emails in Monteriggioni, a couple of weeks later. It added insult to injury in a way - he'd seen the emails his father had sent to Shaun. All across the globe, the Templars continued to take and take and _take_ … team after team falling one by one.

So if no one had come to their aid at the Grand Temple, he forgave them. He only hoped that there were more assassins left in the world than his father let on.

A knock at the door drew his attention and he straightened up in his seat, casting an instinctive glance over to the source of the noise. William was back with the food it would seem. His stomach rumbled in eager anticipation; he couldn't wait to eat something _proper_ that wasn't the slop that they served in the hospital.

As soon as the man entered the living room, closing the door neatly behind him however, Desmond discovered that it wasn't his father at all. All hopes of food were dashed immediately. Instead he found himself staring.

The man was tall, close to six foot. He was tailored in a smartly kept suit and tie – clearly a businessman fresh out of the office. His ash-blond hair was freckled with grey and slicked back atop his head. His chin, sharply chiselled, was flecked with a light blond stubble. He looked familiar. Very familiar.

It was the eyes that gave him away, though.

Creased and crinkled with weathered crow's feet as he blinked and took in the sight before him, even from where he was sitting at the couch Desmond would recognise that piercing shade of ice blue anywhere.

So could Clay, because Desmond felt the man stiffen up beside him, his throat bobbing as he worked to swallow the lump that had effectively momentarily cut off his breathing.

"Harold!" Shaun announced, sweeping over and clasping the man's hand with his own. Harold Kaczmarek inclined his head in a curt nod, acknowledging the historian with nothing more than a grunt of his name. His voice was rough, as if weathered by the stresses of his job. Hard, authoritative. Clearly someone used to getting their way. Clay's hand curled into a tight fist against the couch pillow. Desmond lightly nudged him with his elbow; a reminder that he wasn't alone in this. He just had to keep it cool.

One disinterested glance over the pair of them seated at the couch before Clay's father's eyes returned to Shaun as they conversed in low voices told him that it was more easily said than done.

Desmond didn't think he would ever admit to this, but in that moment he found that he was glad that Clay had Mark's body.

"Bill in?" Harold inquired, and Desmond watched Clay make a point to keep his gaze firmly fixed out the window. Shaun scratched the back of his neck idly.

"He popped out to grab some coffee for us," he answered tersely. Harold nodded and stepped further inside, glancing around the apartment walls.

"I'll catch up with him later then. Just wanted to stop by for a bit to see how you're filling the place out." His gait was weary as he walked, as if he'd been carrying a heavy pack on his shoulders. Probably been working since the early hours of the morning. His eyes swept over the lounge room again, once more skirting briefly over the two men sitting quietly on the couch.

Shaun let him, apparently not finding it within himself to voice anything else for the time being. It was clear he wasn't as comfortable around him as he was William. Presently Harold nodded, as if silently reaffirming something for himself. He looked back at Shaun.

"Looks good," he continued. "I told Bill to call me if there's any problems. If you guys need anything else, you know where to find me." It was then that he paused, piercing blue eyes dancing over to Desmond and Clay. Desmond tensed where he sat. Clay didn't turn his gaze from the window. He was clutching the pillow hard enough to turn his knuckles white against his already pale skin.

"Glad to see you up and about again, Desmond."

Desmond blinked, finding that for the moment all prior thoughts roiling around in his head had settled down to nothing. Blanked out completely. A few moments went by until he managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"… Thanks?"

His voice sounded dry.

_How does he—_

"Bill told me all about what happened in the temple. Looks like we have you to thank for saving our asses for another day longer," Harold spoke with a thin smile, effectively silencing Desmond's thoughts and answering the question he was ready to ask regarding how he knew about him, at least. But the moment he'd registered the final part of Harold's words his brows had furrowed, his confusion giving way to wary distrust. _Saving our asses for another day longer?_ He was seriously contemplating whether or not to punch the man in the face at this point in time. He recognised sarcasm when he heard it.

Harold cleared his throat and looked away from Desmond.

"And who're you?"

It took Desmond a moment to realise that he was talking to Clay. When he did, he was about to reach out, to touch his arm warningly to Clay's shoulder when the blond jerked lightly in his seat and slowly turned his head to finally level ice blue eyes upon the ice blue eyes of his father. Desmond needn't have bothered though – Clay had proven before that he was a damn good actor when it came down to it. And this time was no different, the only sign that his father's words had affected him at all being the barely noticeable straightening of his back, the slow clench and unclench of his fingers by his sides. He took a deep breath, held it, then let it out again – all in the space of a few seconds, leaving no cause for suspicion or concern.

"Mark," he replied, sounding just as disinterested as the man standing before them. Harold held his gaze for a moment, and Desmond wondered if the faint step backwards Harold took was imagined on his part.

A flicker of recognition burned within Harold's cold blue eyes, and he grunted again as he gave a sharp nod.

"Right. That Landers kid. You're up and about now too, huh? Good." He turned away, striding towards the door, back ramrod straight. "Very good."

Clay was unable to fully mask the scoff that left his lips, his eyes narrowing. Desmond could see the way those words hurt. Hurt him deep.

So he wasn't expecting Clay to stand from his seat, arms crossing over his chest as he strode towards the one man who should have recognised him instantly in amongst this crowd of assassins, but didn't. Desmond could only imagine the small sliver of relief this gave Clay despite everything else; if Harold had recognised him on the spot he doubted they'd have been speaking at all right about now. He felt Shaun's eyes darting from one man to the next, and Desmond caught his stare – silently telling him with his gaze to just stay back, let them sort this out amongst themselves. Shaun pulled away, sweeping into the kitchen. He made a show of rooting around in the fridge as if he was looking for something.

"Mr Kaczmarek."

Harold paused as he approached the door, his hand outstretched towards the handle. He turned his head. Desmond tried not to wince at how strained Clay's voice had sounded. Clay cleared his throat, shifting minutely under the impatient glare Harold fixed him with.

"What?"

"Wanted to thank you for the help… you know, with giving us a place to stay and all until this blows over," Clay managed at length, trying to keep his face neutral and only barely managing to do so. His façade was cracking. This was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his life, Desmond could see that clear as day. He clutched his hand against the armrest of the couch.

Harold arched a blond brow; an action so reminiscent of Clay's that for a moment Desmond was unnerved.

The hand he'd been holding at the door lowered back down to his side. He turned to face the man, crossing his arms over his chest. He sized Clay up, eyes sweeping up and down from head to toe.

"Dunno why you're thanking me, kid," he grumbled at length. "Someone has to keep you off the radar. Friends are in short supply these days."

A forced smile slipped onto Clay's lips, and he cleared his throat.

"Friends… right… about that…" He rubbed the back of his neck. Looked over to the opposite wall. Flicked his gaze back to his father. "I, uh… I was a friend of your son's." He waited, clearly wanting to see how Harold would react.

Harold froze. From where he was sitting Desmond could see the clench of his hand by his thigh. The air felt unusually tense.

"Clay?" Harold choked out, and that was it. The gruffness of his voice from earlier was gone, replaced with nothing but raw, tired emotion. He sighed. Clay, for his credit, remained standing perfectly still. Harold ran a hand through his hair. He looked older than his age, like a hundred years had suddenly sprung themselves upon him. "Right… he, uh… he never mentioned you." He trailed off, but Desmond could hear the murmured _"never mentioned a lot of things"_ soon after.

Clay kept his eyes fixed firmly on the man in front of him, not even batting an eye.

"I saw him around college. We had a few classes together. Look, I… I'm sorry about what happened…" He said quietly. He shifted on his feet. Glanced off towards Desmond. Looked back at Harold again. "It was… it was a bit of a shock."

Harold nodded.

"Yeah… he was a good kid…" There was a stutter in his voice; the tell-tale hitch of breath. He was trying to keep it in, trying to reign in that emotion. He managed it as easily as Clay managed to hide himself in plain sight right now, slipping into Mark's persona – or as much of it as he could make do with on the spot. But that mask shattered with Harold's next words, and Clay's audible hitch of breath seemed to echo around the small flat around them.

"I never told him but… I was always proud of him. We never got along… probably mentioned that to you a lot in college, I'll bet." Harold laughed then, the sound bitter and without humour. Clay's eyes slowly widened.

"Yeah… a couple of times…" He would have choked on his words given the chance. Harold's thin smile fell from his lips and he sighed heavily.

"Mark, was it? You don't have to sugar-coat it, kid. I deserved whatever he said about me. I was never a good father to 'im. It's… my fault he ended up signing up with you lot in the first place... should have stepped in when I had the chance… oh well." He looked Clay squarely in the eyes then, ice blue eyes searching ice blue eyes. His lips wavered. "It's been five months. I'm not the type to mourn. Not gonna lie when I say it cut me right to my heart when I heard, though. Still does. But it won't… it won't… bring him back…"

When he lifted his hand to his mouth, his fingers clasping his lips to stifle the shuddering wrack of breath that threatened to slip from his throat, Clay blinked and took an inadvertent step forwards. His fingers twitched, like he was going to reach out… clasp his shoulder…

He stopped, seeming to remember himself and where he was, who he was trying to be. So he cleared his throat instead, but didn't dare look Harold in the face as he continued.

"He loved you, you know…" And even as he spoke his words didn't come easily. "Sure he said you were a pain in the ass more often than not, but you were still his dad… I think… I think he'd want you to know that. It wasn't your fault. Wasn't anyone's fault… as long as... as long as you're still around to hear that, I guess."

Harold looked at him then. His blue eyes were reddened with an emotion that both Clay and even Desmond, from where he was sitting mere metres away, were sure they'd never seen before. Clay coughed quietly, feeling the need to clear the silence. He was about to try to say something else when he was stopped, Harold cutting across him with a voice that was so soft it was barely audible.

"It's funny… you remind me of him…"

Clay blinked. Once, twice… his hands curled by his side again. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat.

"Sorry?"

Desmond almost rose from his seat. Almost. Harold's reddened eyes crinkled; crow's feet wrinkling around his eyelids as his saddened smile split his stubbled jaw apart.

"I look at you and… I see a lot of him in you. You're a stubborn son of a bitch, Mark. Determined. Can see it in your eyes. No wonder why you and Clay would have gotten along. I hope your dad's proud of you."

It wasn't until Harold had reached out, had clasped his shoulder with a light grip that Clay started, was roused to respond in the only way he could. He nodded, slowly – his bottom lip quivering as he tried to keep his breaths steady. He tried to smile, but his eyes echoed only pain.

"… I think he is. In his own way…" His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. His fingers shook as he returned the gesture, tried to clasp Harold's shoulder in his own hand. Harold nodded, tightening his grip before dropping his hand back to his side – mutual understanding in both men's gazes, an understanding that had at last been found, five months later. Harold took a step back, and the spell was broken. Clay sobered up, clearing his throat again and scratching the back of his neck.

"Like I said, you all know where to find me," Harold announced to the rest of the room, Desmond, Shaun and Rebecca – who had walked in some three minutes ago – merely nodding in acknowledgement. As Harold cast one more glance around the apartment he made no show of hiding the way his eyes glanced over Clay once more.

This time, when he smiled, it was genuine.

"Keep in touch."

The door closed behind him when he exited, and he was gone.

A moment passed until anyone dared speak.

"Wow…"

Shaun looked over at Rebecca, who only shook her head; half in awe, half in pure unadulterated shock. Desmond finally willed his legs to move, and when he steadied himself upright (a phantom twitch of pain in his leg momentarily causing him to sway on his feet), he saw Clay turn around and was just in time to catch the brief conflicted gaze that swam in the man's sharp blue eyes.

He didn't look sad. Clay knew he didn't look sad. He didn't feel it. Rather, he felt a sense of… elation? Discomfort? He couldn't describe it. All he knew was that he had apologised to his father, tried to reach out to him just this one last time… and it hadn't ended up with blows traded to the back of his head.

He swallowed thickly, then inhaled deeply – feeling the air become increasingly much easier to breathe since Harold's departure. He continued to focus his gaze on Desmond; he saw the worry, the concern in those dark eyes of his. He shook his head, waved it off with a lazy flick of his hand. Desmond arched a brow, clearly unconvinced, but nevertheless he thankfully let the matter slide.

"He's my dad," he found himself announcing to the silent living room, and Clay felt an unbidden small smile twitch at his lips regardless. _Jesus Christ._ He needed a drink. Preferably something much, _much_ stronger than what a meagre coffee could provide. But then his throat grew dry once again, and for a moment he had trouble with his words. "… Gotta have a happy ending somewhere with him I guess."

_Because after all the bullshit we've had to put up with over the past three months, happy endings are in really short supply._

Rebecca offered a small smile from where she stood with Shaun in the kitchen. Shaun nodded his silent agreement. Blue eyes turned to Desmond again then, and Clay merely arched a brow as he watched the younger man stare at him, a million questions seeming to be rolling around in that head of his.

But all Desmond did was shrug his shoulders, offer a faint grin on his scarred lips, and stride forward to clap the blond on the back.

If Clay allowed himself to lean closer to the younger man as Desmond whispered to him his condolences at how hard that must have been for him, but also his relief at how that had gone down, no one aside from them noticed as William chose that moment to return, the door opening to admit him through with snacks and coffee in tow.

And if Clay allowed himself to turn his head when Shaun, William and Rebecca bustled over the food and drinks at the kitchen counter, allowing the two of them enough privacy to lean into the light kiss that both of them moved in to initiate… no one continued to notice.

And that was just fine by them.

Because it was exactly as Clay had then mumbled to Desmond over the man's scarred lips as the two prepared to then pull away, eager to stride into the kitchen to grab their fill: happy endings _were_ in short supply.

And they'd all be idiots if they didn't bother to take advantage of it while it lasted.

* * *

Life in the city was exactly as Desmond had remembered it; the pulse of life, almost hypnotic with its ceaseless thrum of activity. The air, so filled with fumes and the smells of food filled his lungs and rocketed through to his very core.

Each day spent in New York was another day to recover, and soon the horrors that had befallen that temple, the fight against Abstergo, the time spent kidnapped and sent far away from home and the injuries taken to both body and mind seemed to fade away into all but a distant memory. The charred remains of his hand didn't bother him anymore, not when he had his whole life ahead of him – which was something that seemed almost impossible to conceive of the day they had left that hospital for good. But the fight wasn't over. It was never over. Even when he fell asleep at night, Clay lying out next to him on occasion when the blond saw fit to, he knew that each day waking up after a dreamless, nightmare void sleep was a day that brought with it new threats, new opportunities for Abstergo to make their next move.

If there was one thing he'd discovered from his ancestors' lives after all, it was that for the life of an assassin… the fight would never end. Assassins versus Templars was a war which had lasted as long as time itself, and would continue to last well into the unforeseeable future. Juno had made sure of that.

So it came as no surprise when a month into their stay in New York it happened.

Rebecca had called them down to the living room after dinner, and four heads crowded around her in earnest as she sat back and grimly showed them the news.

The email was short, rushed. Clearly sent in a hurry. The sender was unrecognisable.

William's eyes narrowed.

"What the hell is this?!"

The silence he was met with was answer enough.

"It was sent ten minutes ago," Rebecca explained after a moment, sighing and letting Shaun scroll through the contents for himself. "Looks like there's trouble in Montreal."

"John Standish isn't one of us. Never seen his name before," Shaun mused as he looked at the sender's email address again. His eyes narrowed. "Especially not when it was sent from an Abstergo web server."

"What's this entertainment division of theirs?" Clay asked, his hand on the back of Rebecca's chair as he leant over.

"Started up a couple of weeks ago. They're trying to commercialise the animus technology using memory samples taken from sessions," William sighed. That drew forth twin darkened glares, Desmond and Clay falling silent as they looked at one another. Desmond continued to remain silent, looking back at the message that Shaun had finally stopped scrolling through so as to let him take in each frantic, typed plea.

_Good job saving the planet a while back. Inspiring._

_But don't get too comfy._

_Got something here you might be interested in._

_They've compiled it from Vidic's servers._

_Two weeks and the world will know everything… at least, everything THEY want the world to know._

_Time's ticking._

_J.S._

As Desmond looked at the subject title, he felt a cold chill course down his spine.

_Subject: ABSTERGO ENTERTAINMENT DATA ANALYSIS: SAMPLE 17 PROJECT_

"Sample seventeen…" Desmond's breath caught in his throat. It didn't take a genius to figure out who or what 'Sample 17' referred to.

"Hello…" Shaun breathed, cutting through Desmond's thoughts and distracting him from the matter at hand. His bespectacled eyes ran through the attachment files that had been forwarded along with the suspicious email. He clicked the image and enlarged it on screen. "This is the team of analysts working on sifting through the memories they've stored… who's that? In the very back?"

One look was all it took.

Clay and Desmond exhaled sharply, reeling back from the laptop screen. The other three exchanged grim, knowing glances. A quick study of the project leader's names only served to confirm what they had already known.

_Head Analyst: Doctor Álvaro Gramática_

A beat of silence was all it took for Desmond and Clay to compose themselves.

"It's him," Desmond choked out, finally stepping back towards the screen again. He felt his blood pump through his veins; white-hot, enraged. They had him. Clay grasped his shoulder.

"When do we start?" He asked, sweeping his gaze over those present. William looked at them both. The corners of his bearded lips twitched upwards, ever so slightly.

"As soon as we can," he announced. "We've rested long enough." He clapped them both on the back. His eyes dropped to Rebecca. "Get us on the next flight out tomorrow morning."

Rebecca nodded, doing just that.

William looked at them once more.

"Go and get yourselves packed up boys," he grinned. "We're going to pay our old friends a visit."

A single, sharp nod was Clay's response, Desmond only offering a noncommittal grunt of a reply. It wasn't until they'd made it halfway down the corridor that they paused to look at one another, brows raised and slow smiles forming, the familiar rush of adrenalin coursing through their veins.

"Ever been to Canada, Desmond?" Clay asked casually as Desmond pushed open the door to their room. Desmond snorted a laugh, looking back over his shoulder at the blond.

"Nope. Always wanted to go, though," he announced cheerily – or as cheerily as he could manage given the current circumstances. "Never been to Abstergo's Entertainment HQ, either. That Sample Seventeen project sounds like some crazy bullshit."

"Wonder what they could possibly be looking for in that DNA of yours," Clay mused, already working on grabbing a set of spare clothes from the closet.

"Whatever they were probably looking for in yours. Doesn't matter. We have a lead, and we're going to take it."

"Think we can trust this John Standish guy?"

Desmond shook his head.

"Nah."

Clay's lips quirked into a lopsided grin.

"Y'know," he said slowly, drawing Desmond's attention again as the man looked back at him over his shoulder, "this time we might not be so lucky. We got out of that temple by sheer dumb luck. Stuff like that rarely happens a second time."

Desmond stopped entirely then, and he turned to fix Clay with his complete, undivided attention. This time when he smiled, it was small, considerate. Careful.

"Maybe… but then again, the Templars always make a habit of underestimating us. What was that old saying? History repeats itself?"

"God I hope not. I've had enough of history to last me a lifetime."

Desmond smirked at that, his smile now wide enough to mirror Clay's own.

"Anything to finally put a stop to all this, though."

Clay chuckled, glancing down at the blackened tips of his fingers, his right hand reaching down to dance over the similarly charred fingers of Desmond's own left hand; a horrid reminder of everything that had happened, everything that still _would_ happen.

There was no end in sight for an assassin, and five months ago an end was all he'd wanted. But he'd been given a second chance, a second opportunity to make it count, make their struggles _mean_ something. Desmond's hand tightened around his. Blue eyes locked onto deep brown.

Clay's smile widened.

"I saw you safe and kept up my part of the bargain… now it's time you kept yours," he murmured, repeating those words which he'd said to Desmond, all those months ago – a lifetime now – on the Island as it cracked, shook, fell apart around them.

Desmond grinned from ear to ear. His eyes glinted.

"Deal."

As their lips met, sealing that deal with promise and pleasure, they could only hope that Álvaro Gramática, whoever he was, wherever he was, knew and feared what was undoubtedly coming for him.

Was it cocky? Self-assured? Undoubtedly.

But then again, they had good reason to be.

Because after all, against all possible odds… they'd survived December 21st.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Finally 100% finished! 
> 
> My thanks for everyone who's managed to stick around long enough to read it the whole way through! And thanks again for all the comments, kudos and bookmarks I've seen people place on this fic too - it means a lot to me, it really does :)
> 
> Until next time! :)


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